Coming of Age
by Cooking Spray
Summary: The kittens are growing up quickly, bringing about some changes in the Junkyard. Some of these changes include the loss of the Tugger's fan club. As it comes time to face facts, a certain soon to be Queen seems ready to help. TuggerxJemima
1. The Fragile Cusp of Queenhood

**Coming of Age**

**by Cooking Spray**

**Disclaimer: Highlight the phrase "fan fiction". Read carefully. Consult dictionary if necessary.**

**Hello, and welcome to my first CATS fan fic, as well as my first chaptered story in a long time. I promise that the actual story will be significantly less bland and generic as that previous opening line. XD**

**I had a lot of ideals floating around in my head, and somehow they amalgamated themselves into this, after trying to be a poignant one shot and failing. This story will deal primarily with Tugger and the kittens, specifically Jemima, although the rest of the cast will get their time in the spotlight.**

**Also, I draw a lot of my interpretation of the CATS universe from the video. It should become apparent on its own in the characterization and relationships, somewhat. As we know, there's no true canon in this fandom, which gives us writers such wonderful artistic license. As such, I view the Jellicles as being anthropomorphic as they are presented presented on stage away from prying Human eyes.**

**And now, belatedly, enjoy.**

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**Chapter One:**

**The Fragile Cusp of Queenhood**

The kittens were growing up.

It was a singular statement, obvious in its meaning. And, of course, it was also a known, inevitable fact of Jellicle life. Still, for all of its solidity, Tugger had never believed it would come true.

Until recently.

By now, it was a given that wherever the Tugger went, he would be flocked by his steadfast group of star-struck, under-aged admirers. They were young, nubile, and unconditionally faithful - unlike the steady stream of Queens, who came and went from one moon to the next. They were naive enough to idolize his every movement and console him even when he did not deserve consolation, and they were always ready with a sympathetic rub or two when his self esteem was low. To put it bluntly, they were an innocuous bevy of mislead younglings who based all of their judgments on a dangerous sex appeal they could barely relate to and served only as personal ego boosters.

The adults disapproved of the association, even though they knew the only way Tugger would manage to corrupt their kittenish innocence was through one too many dizzying gyrations of his prodigious hips - he did have _some _standards. But now, after years of virginally twining about his long legs, their displays of fondness had taken an abrupt turn. He probably should've braced himself for the change, but such was not Tugger's way - he liked living from day to day, playing things by ear. All of that planning junk he left up to Old D and Munkus. They seemed to enjoy it.

One sundown, though, upon strutting into the yard with the usual self-important swagger, Tugger was faced with a very different welcome wagon. As always, the Princesses were waiting for him just outside the hole in the fence. When he came into view, they scrambled to get as close as possible, thronging to his effeminate cool with distinctly feminine enthusiasm. That much was standard protocol.

"Hi, Tugger," they all greeted in coy unison, each giving their favorite Tom unique salutations. Etcetera was, of course, first in line, weaving through and rubbing against the Tugger's calves and begging for attention in return.

But Tugger noticed that he noticed that when he gave Etcy the little scratch behind the ears she was so fond of, her reaction was different than the usual high-pitched squeal. A familiar rumbling sensation emanated from the white tabby, momentarily making him freeze. It wasn't a cute mewl, but a _purr _- one that started deep in the center of her chest and vibrated thickly through her throat, strong and warm.

While he was still recovering, Jemima saw her opportunity and brushed through the Maine Coon's legs herself, rubbing her head against a not-so-innocent portion of his inner thigh. She seemed unaware of the effects of her gesture, though, and merely sat back with the same wide-eyed expression, clinging chastely to a calf. Electra busied herself with possessively burying her face in his ruff, purring contentedly. Tugger was all-too aware of the movement of her hips against his side, and began to grow uncomfortable. Uncomfortable from female attention - it was truly a first. Something about the intimacy of their greetings gave him a wary feeling, though, and he could no longer deny just how far his little fan club had come.

"Ladies, ladies," he admonished, somewhat uneasily this time, shooing the Princesses away from his legs so that he could resume walking. His uncertainty had seemed to telegraph itself in the timbre of his voice, however, because Jemima, ever the intuitive one, picked up on it. She straightened and tilted her pretty head, luminous eyes inquisitive. Even Electra and Etcetera seemed slightly dismayed by the inattention, pouting a bit as they escorted the Tugger into the central part of the Yard.

Though he was a bit unseated by the recent turn of events, Tugger maintained his cool exterior when it came time to greet all of the other Jellicles. Tonight, company was sparse, as the monthly festival was still a couple of weeks away. The only pairs lounging about aside from the tribe's resident matriarchs, Jennyanydots and Jellylorum, were that of the newly-Mated Plato and Victoria and Alonzo and Cassandra. Munkustrap, Demeter, and Bombalurina were curiously absent, which conjured up an amused grin on the Maine Coon's face. He had rather hoped Misto might be hanging around in addition to his sister, since he could use some good conversation (and an excuse to extricate himself from the Princesses' company), but that didn't seem to be the case. The young Toms were all wedged in and around his customary pipe, involved in yet another mysterious game, although they did pause long enough to aim glares at him when he entered with the Princesses. The Tugger still couldn't resist flashing them a wide smile and a wave. His furry body adornments just giggled prettily.

"Well, well, well, look who's come to mingle with the commoners. . ." Alonzo regarded the notorious figure with some contempt, scoring him a swat on the knee from the Abyssinian Queen perched in his lap.

"Yes, so nice you could join us," Plato sneered teasingly. Victoria, still shy about being seen with her Mate in public, just silently shook her head.

The Tugger grinned broadly, and whispered words of dismissal to his fan club. With some reluctance and several parting nuzzles, they left to go and arrange themselves at the feet of Jenny and Jelly, both of whom were eying the Yard's newcomer watchfully.

Plato got up with the White Queen in hand and went to give the taller Tom a pat on the back. Tugger repaid the favor, and then knelt to kiss his Mate's delicate paw. She dropped her eyes almost immediately and clutched a fist to her mouth. Tugger seemed even more pleased with himself than usual.

"Aw, Vicki, don't be shy. . . You know, I saw you dancing with the Tugger here last Ball. You weren't so embarrassed then." He drew the White Queen's tiny body against his own, and she eventually regained her courage, giving the her Mate a little half-grin.

"You were dancing with us, dearest," she reminded, and Plato couldn't help but laugh.

"What can I say? No one can resist the Tugger! He knows it, too." The tortoise-coated Tom winked.

Amused, Tugger ruffled the long fur atop Victoria's head, giving his companion the nod of approval. "You're a lucky Pollicle, Plato." He aimed a deliberate look at the White Queen. "If you ever get tired of him, Vicky, you know you'll always have a place with me."

"I'm very honored, Tugger," Victoria replied with a slight smirk. "But I think Misto knows you too well to approve."

"Get out of here, you old charmer," Plato laughed, giving him a playful shove in the chest. As the Maine Coon pretended to fall back and lose his balance, Victoria laughed and snuggled back against her Mate's chest, pulling his arms tighter around her waist.

At about that time, several muffled _thwaps _and desperate whispers of compliance sounded, and everyone looked over to see a broody but cowed Alonzo being assisted (or, rather, dragged) down from the tire by his Mate.

Cassandra curtsied in customary Ancient pose. "Good evening, Tugger," she said cheerily, pausing in her oblivion only to cast a victorious smirk at her Mate as Tugger knelt down to her and paid the same respect to her extended paw that he had Victoria's.

Grudgingly, the black and white Tom shuffled over and mumbled his own formalities. Tugger gave him an amused nod, and then Alonzo quickly snatched Cassie up and away again. She waved over his shoulder as they exited, obviously finding her Mate's jealousy too tempting to provoke.

"That was interesting," the Maine Coon remarked, still chuckling over the whole scene. Even though Alonzo had spent a year and a half out of the nursery's confines, he still had a lot of maturing to do. The black and white Tom had always had an arrogant streak and a hot temper, both of which caused him a fair share of trouble. He was probably still put out about the little fling he and Cassie had enjoyed last year, which was really only a lot of un-subliminal flirting and nothing more.

"Those two always are." Plato noticed that Victoria's purr had started to kick in, and gave the Tugger a very meaningful look.

"I think that's my cue to go, too." He winked and gave the White Queen a scratch under the chin, to which she responded by purring even more loudly.

"Well, _I _sure won't keep you waiting." He stepped aside, motioning in the direction of what he knew to be their home-away-from-home with an exaggerated flourish.

"Goodnight, Tugger," Victoria called after him, before her voice was lost in an eruption of giggles. Tugger watched after them for a while, congratulatory but still a bit green.

When the happy couple had disappeared from sight, he hauled up into his favorite post beneath the broken clock face, watching the waxing moon that was now ere in the sky. He was all by his lonesome now, excluding the Matrons and the kittens. Most of the young Toms had ventured out of hiding to join the Princesses, and Jenny and Jelly were keeping close surveillance as the youngsters entertained themselves with a game of cat-and-mouse. From the looks of it, Tumblebrutus was 'it', and he was fast on Etcy's heels. The only kitten absent from the fun seemed to be Jemima, who was nowhere to be-

"Would you mind some company?"

Tugger started and bolted straight up, confronted with the form of the rust-black Princess. She looked as patient and pure as ever, poising her compact figure on the ledge of the junk heap and ducking slightly to avoid having her eye speared by a twisted minute hand.

"Uh. . . sure." A little bewildered, he scooted over and cleared a space. It was just small enough for Jemima to fit in comfortably, despite the now-cramped conditions. She hung her legs over the ledge and smiled.

"So, why aren't you getting in on the game?" They both watched as Electra desperately stretched to corner Admetus, falling flat on her face but grabbing hold of his hind paw in the process.

Jemima shrugged. "I don't know. I don't feel like playing games much lately. I still like being with my friends, but anymore I kind of feel alone in the crowd." She glanced over at her companion. "You can relate, can't you?"

Tugger was startled by the insight for all of a few seconds, and then he snickered. "Well, since there's really no one in my age group here. . . yeah, I guess I can."

He expected Jemima's ears to droop at the reminder of their age difference, but she merely nodded. "I'll be considered an adult by the next full moon. I guess it just comes with growing older."

Tugger's eyes widened. Jemima was going to become a Queen? Of course, since he had known her from the time she was first brought to the tribe at a very young age, he had some approximation. . . But still, why hadn't he heard any news of this? He gave Jenny and Jelly below a dark look, even though they couldn't see him. Fearing that the Tugger would be all over the opportunity, which was not an unfair assumption, they had probably tried to keep things under wraps with Jemima's interests in mind. Currently, however, they were enraptured by their needlepoint and not paying the slightest bit of attention to the missing Princess, which was proof enough for him that their intentions mattered little.

The Maine Coon's look of surprise did not escape Jemima. "You hadn't heard?"

The Tugger shook his head. "Not a word until now." He grinned, putting his charisma to work for him. "And to think, they were going to let me get off without getting you a present."

Jemima giggled and covered her mouth with a paw, which meant the comment had produced the intended effect. "That's thoughtful of you, Tugger." She paused a moment, something occurring to her. "Would you get a present for Etcy and Electra when they become Queens, too?"

Tugger blinked, not quite sure what she was getting at. "Sure," he replied finally. "Why wouldn't I?"

The rust-black Princess nodded, and the Tugger was disconcerted. Somehow, he knew what he had just said had more meaning than he intended behind it.

"Well, their coming-of-age will be in a few more moons, too," she said carefully. He didn't know why, but her words seemed ominous, like something he should remember for more than what they meant.

Smiling again, Jemima stood to go. Now Tugger was thoroughly confused.

"Thank you for talking with me, Tugger," she said politely, her expression warm and cordial.

"Wait, you're leaving?"

She nodded. "I know the night's early, but I feel a little tired. I think I'm going to go and get some rest."

"Well, uh. . . goodnight, then. Do you need some help down?" Tugger was up on his feet in moments, perplexed by the whole situation and narrowly missing becoming a pincushion for another protruding clock hand.

Jemima shook her head. "I'm fine." She looked at him very pointedly, her attitude still light but also somehow more serious, simultaneously. "Don't forget, okay?"

She slipped past him. Her tail, whether it was intentional or not, traced a path across Tugger's lower abdomen as she left, and he was instantly reminded of the incident when he entered the Yard earlier with a shiver.

"Goodnight, Tugger." The rust-black Princess smiled and waved, and then climbed gracefully down from the pile and into the night's obscurity.

The Maine Coon, somewhat shaken, sat down once again, suddenly unable to relax like he had intended before his visitor had arrived. He knew that he wouldn't be joining Jemima in her slumber anytime soon. Instead, he let his eyes redirect themselves to the kittens again, surveying the progress of their game.

Below, Pouncival had just tackled Etcetera by leaping atop her, true to name, and straddling her stomach, to weakly protesting bouts of shrill laughter. In fact, most everyone had forgotten the rules and were now just rough-housing - Electra had her hands full with the double-team of Admetus and Tumble. In her attempt to tackle the former, she had been pinned from behind by the latter, and she was now squished between both and being tickled mercilessly, screaming to Etcy for help in between her own spasms of giggles. Jenny and Jelly were beginning to run over and stage an intervention, looking each other with knowing eyes.

Once thing was for certain: the kittens were, quite irrefutably, growing up.

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**Poor Tugger. For all of his feminine appeals, he still knows nothing about the psyche of a Queen. . . XD**

**I haven't written anything chaptered in an impossibly long time. In fact, I'd sworn off chaptered stories completely, mainly because I never seem to be able to finish them. This, however, is not as epic and wide-ranging as anything I've ever attempted, and I know where I want it to go. It was actually going to be a one shot, but then I kept getting all of these ideas, and it kept taking longer and longer to develop. So, it was unintentional that this is multi-parted.**

**I'd love to hear your thoughts, and I hope you found this to be an interesting prologue. D**


	2. Girl Talk

**Coming of Age**

**by Cooking Spray**

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**Disclaimer: Highlight the phrase "fan fiction". Read carefully. Consult dictionary if necessary.**

**Back again with another decent-sized chapter. . . the pace at which I'm writing this is astounding to me. XD I've decided I like writing for this fandom. I seem much more inspired.**

**A lot of Etcetera, Electra, and Jemima this time. . . I love these three. Enjoy!**

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**Chapter Two:**

**Girl Talk**

The not yet full moon, having reached its zenith in the sky for the night, had begun its downward descent. Those prowling about the Junkyard still had a few good hours to bask in the moonlight, but dawn was approaching shortly. This was an opportunity the average Jellicle made the most of, expending their energy in the company of friends and loved ones before facing another day of napping at the residence of their Humans. However, this was not the case for one troubled rust-black Princess. The moon was no longer a companion with whom to hold her vigil, but instead a fixture that reminded her nightly of the changes that were to be coming about soon, and of the ones that had already taken place.

Curled into the gutted interior of TSE 1, not minding the acrid scent of mold and must, was Jemima. She had tried to let sleep claim her, like she had promised, but the echoes of her friends nearby and her thoughts kept her awake. One thought, in particular - but she hardly even dared to concentrate on it for long, as if acknowledging its existence would make it any less reversible than it was already.

She sighed and shifted, able to get a view of Etcetera through a large rust hole in the decrepit car's door. Since Jenny and Jelly had intervened, the Toms had been separated and made to sit by the Matrons, a stipulation that had been a cause for much grumbling and protesting. The white tabby Princess was on her stomach, in rapt conversation with someone out of view - probably Electra. If Jemima hadn't been in self-imposed exile, she would've been joining in. The subject matter, had she been asked to guess, had something to do with Pouncival. Etcetera talked about him and his wicked deeds frequently these days, which always led Electra to share her own outrageous tales about her romps with Admetus and Tumble. In fact, the Tugger had almost disappeared from mention entirely. Jemima was the only one of the trio who had thought to mention his new collar a few moons ago, and while it had triggered mild enthusiasm, no sightseeing expedition was made to confirm whether or not the smaller spikes were as complementing as the previous studs.

The view only brought back what she had been trying to avoid. The Rum Tum Tugger. . . She, Etcy, and Electra had chased after him since they were too tiny to properly remember, almost. He was tall, handsome, and important - or at least, in their kittenish minds, he was, merely because he was an adult, and all adults were respectable. All the Queens paid attention to him, but he always made time for the Princesses, too. In fact, he was one of the only older Jellicles who would listen to them seriously, which always made them feel special. His advice was perhaps a bit inappropriate for their virgin ears at times, but he meant well, and that's what counted.

Somehow, though, there had been an unconscious evolution in her feelings toward the Tugger. Whereas Etcy and Electra had begun to focus their attentions on the younger Toms, Jemima was doing just the opposite. Her infatuation, which was harmless enough when shared between her two best friends, had deepened into the beginnings of something more. It was possibly the worst thing that could happen, regardless of her upcoming transcendence into Queenhood. The chances of someone of the Maine Coon's caliber ever giving her a serious thought compared with those of Macavity reforming from his villainous ways. She would probably never be more than a little sister to him - his answer to the sly question she had asked earlier about his charitable intentions had already proven that.

Besides, even if by some miracle he was able to look upon her in a light less than juvenile, the courtship would most likely be brief - she had gathered over the years that the Tugger did not care for long-term relationships any more than he did cuddles. Jemima had a hunch that her affections might be a bit deeper than that. _This_ was what scared her the most.

Though still miserable, her earlier conversation with Tugger burning in the front of her mind, she shook away her cynical thoughts. She had no idea why she had sought out his company in the first place. . . She'd known beforehand that it would lead to depression. Love was already making her do stupid things. Why couldn't she have just had the sense to take after the other Princesses and go for someone her own age?

Before she could berate herself further, a call outside pricked her ears.

"Jemi!" The voice belonged to Etcetera. From the tiny view Jemima's makeshift peephole allowed her, she could see the white tabby Princess cupping her paws around her mouth and peering around. Part of her was delighted that they had noticed her prolonged absence, but the other part of her just wanted to curl up and bury herself in her woes in safe solitude.

"Je-mi-maaaaa! Come out come out wherever you are!" Electra joined in the search party with her typical brashness, looking about the Junkyard like a sailor on watch duty.

The object of warrant made no effort to give herself up. Etcy and Electra didn't abandon hope easily, however - after all, the Junkyard was only so big, even for the craftiest of Jellicles. A few minutes went by, and Jemima had just begun to tune their voices out - until she was nearly scared out of her wits by the sudden appearance of another feline eye staring back at her from the rust hole. Its owner let out a victorious shriek.

"Fouuuuuund her!" Electra scrambled over to her friend's side in a split second, and before Jemima could blink, the determined duo were hoisting themselves through the busted window. If she still retained any hopes for a nap, they were most certainly gone now.

Two furry lumps, one cream and one gray, landed with a vague semblance of grace on the remaining shreds of weather-beaten leather. Seeing the pathetic state of their friend, their faces sobered.

"Jemi! What are you doing in here all by yourself?" Etcy nudged the despondent form of the rust-black Princess, exchanging a look of concern with Electra. "You know, you could've helped us out a bit and answered all that time we were yelling for you. . ."

"Oh, Etce, give a girl a break. Can't you see the poor thing's having a hard time enough already?" The gray Princess followed her partner's suit, lying down by her troubled friend.

"You don't have to talk about me like I'm not here," Jemima murmured, honestly still recovering from the shock of Etcetera's surprise invasion.

"Well, you might as well not be!" the white tabby Princess protested hotly, putting her paws to her still-slight hips. "C'mon, Jemi, talk to us! What's eating you?"

"We _are_ your friends," Electra added. "You're supposed to share these things with us!"

Jemima sat up slowly, indulging the younger Princesses. Neither of them had ever understood her occasional need to be alone, due to their own inseparable nature. Jemima had always been the reserved one, in comparison to Etcy's and Electra's seemingly limitless energy. They respected that, and always looked to her advice - not only was she the oldest of the group, but she was also the most introspective. As such, they dealt with their problems as team, and were always very vocal about them. Jemima was just the opposite.

In fact, the only thing that she shared with them, in truth, was a past - she, Etcy, and Electra had all been strays found by members of the tribe when they were very young. They had been, whether it was intentional or not, orphaned by their parents at some point shortly after their birth. It was a mere coincidence that the trio had been discovered within a few short moons of each other, and an unusual one. Still, they had all grown up together in the fashion of sisters, bound together by fate and a common past. All glaring differences were cast aside in favor of a bond strong enough to replace the families they never knew.

With that thought in mind, Jemima knew she had to cave. Partially, at least. She hated to hide things from the two of them, as they never held back any of their own secrets, but she sensed that this one was better left unspoken for the moment. Knowing Etcy and Electra as well as she did, she knew they were far too apt to throw the whole matter out of proportion. Then, her heart's twitters ran the risk of reaching Tugger's ears - and she did not want to seem like a little kitten with a crush, even if it was technically the truth.

"I'm a little nervous about becoming a Queen, is all," Jemima answered finally. It was at least half-true, although the reasons for her apprehension had little to do with status.

"Nervous?" Etcy exclaimed, aghast. "There's no reason to be nervous! Jemi, you're going to make such a beautiful Queen. . . If I had your looks and your talents, I sure wouldn't be sulking!"

At that, Electra thumped her insensitive friend on the head, causing the white tabby Princess to yelp. She rubbed the afflicted spot and scowled, but her attacker ignored the look. Jemima almost smiled at their antics.

"You should be nervous, Etce. . . you've got a long way to go. You'll be lucky if they don't make you _wait_." The gray tabby Princess stuck out her tongue and grinned wickedly. "If Jemi's nervous, she's nervous! It's our job to make her feel better, not worse."

"Once again, I'm right here. . . you're not lifting my spirits any by continuing to ignore me," Jemima reminded her bickering friends, although she doubted there was much that they could say to soothe her anyhow. However, watching their silly arguments was starting to bring her out of her funk against her will.

"You're right, Jemi! I'm sorry." Electra rubbed her head against one of the rust-black Princess' paws, earnestly apologetic. Etcy shut her mouth, which had been opened in hopes of lobbing an insult back at Electra, but she still looked sulky.

"It's alright. I'm not really mad." Jemima smiled thinly to make her point, and then gave both of her friends her own rub of the paw to drive it home. Both kittens perked up a second time, forgetting their tryst.

There was a short silence, during which the trio basked in the restored peace and the feeling of being together once again as friends, something that had been happening less and less in the past few moons. Then Etcy piped up again, unable to keep quiet for long. "So, why _are _you nervous?"

Jemima sighed. She knew she couldn't tell her the real reason, so she tried to be as honest as possible under the circumstances. "I don't know, really. But everything's changing so quickly already. . . I guess I'm just afraid of getting used to life in a new way all over again, and not knowing what to do about it. Being an adult seems so different than being a kitten."

"Of course, adults get to have Mates!" Etcetera giggled, also incapable of remaining serious.

This time, Electra only rolled her eyes. "We all know you can't wait to be with Pounce, okay? But could you just hush for a moment and let the girl speak?"

"At least I can make up my mind. . ." The white tabby Princess' retort was but a mumble.

Before Electra could work up an equally scathing comment, both noticed that Jemima was shaking with laughter. Almost immediately, their hostility was forgotten, and they began to giggle along themselves. For a while, they just laughed with one another at nothing in particular.

"See? I made her laugh," Etcetera gasped proudly some time later.

"How do you know that wasn't me, huh?" Electra challenged. This time, though, it was just in jest.

"You two!" Jemima shook her head, and received twin impish grins. "I do feel better, though. . . So thank you." Somehow, the statement was true. Etcy and Electra's enthusiasm was infectious.

"Anything for a friend!" Etcetera said happily, giving the rust-black Princess an affectionate rub.

After things calmed down, and the goal of cheering up Jemima had succeeded, the trio clustered together. It was just like old times - they had done this on many an occasion when they were littler, whiling the night away in deep conversation without a care in the world. Jemima had forgotten how comfortable it made her feel to be totally accepted and honest with someone. Well, the last portion of that thought wasn't quite applicable anymore, and she felt a little remorse for it, as it was another unforgettable reminder of the change she had mentioned before. But, for the moment, they were together and they had each other. Moments like these would become harder to come by when she came of age.

"You know, Vicki became a Queen just a few moons ago, too. . . Maybe you should talk to her, Jemi," Etcy suggested.

"Yeah, but Vicki was never as close with us. I guess maybe she felt a little left out, since she has a Human family. . ." Electra idly kneaded her claws on the desecrated seat as she spoke.

"And Plato, now," Jemima reminded, her voice soft.

"Yeah, and they were Mated just a moon after she came of age, too," Etcy said with the usual giggle that punctuated any of her remarks on the topic of courtship. "I think _everyone _remembers that."

"You're such a romantic, Etce," Electra sighed. "Not that having a Tom would be so bad. . . Jemima agrees, right?"

Suddenly, both Princesses had rounded on her. Jemima froze prior to realizing she wouldn't be giving herself up by simply agreeing, and then eased into a small smile. "No, a Tom wouldn't be bad at all."

Etcetera nudged Electra in the side. "Sounds like she's thinking of someone. . ." The white tabby Princess' tone was playful.

At this, Jemima did panic. Had her tone really given it away? "Oh, no, no one," she said in a rush. "I was just thinking about how nice it would be, that's all." Before the night was over, she was going to develop a talent for falsehood.

"Well, I can share if you think you're interested," Electra offered with a wink. "Etcy will kill me if I try to set you up with dear Pouncy, but Addy and Tumble aren't so bad."

Etcetera tried to look huffy, but Electra waved a dismissive paw at her. "Oh, don't act all offended. You know it's true."

Jemima giggled, and was greatly relieved to have the heat directed away from her. Her secret, although not-so secretive to begin with, was safe. As her friends bickered, the rust-black Princess caught a warped view of the sky in the TSE 1's surviving rearview mirror. Dawn was almost upon them. Her wishes of sleep, now that she had been temporarily alleviated of her worries, returned to her in full force. She felt her eyelids begin to grow heavy.

Jemima wasn't the only one who noticed. "The sun's about to rise," Etcy observed, pausing in her argument and yawning for emphasis.

"Yeah, and I'm getting tired." Electra forced herself into an upright position again, rubbing at her eyes. "Time to get some sleep. . . slumber party's over."

The Princesses vacated the vehicle the same way they had entered, Jemima drowsily bringing up the rear. Her problems were far from being cured, but right now all she cared about was nestling among the blankets and dropping off to dreamland. The trio stumbled wordlessly in the direction of the sheltered nook of the Junkyard referred to as the nursery, ignoring the young Toms trying to play macho and stay awake who showered them with catcalls.

An even further distance away, essentially camouflaged, two identical sets of eyes also tagged along, although much more silently. The outline of their dark, calico-patterned bodies could barely be made out by even the keenest of Jellicle eyes in the false dawn.

_Does he know? _The more diminutive of the pair looked to her apparent twin.

_Not completely. But he is aware. _Her mirror squinted across the Yard, centering his line of sight in the vicinity of the clock face.

The female sighed. _He has a lot to learn, then._

Turning back to give her a solid glance, the male nodded. _And so does she._

In unison, they faced the sunrise, watching the light slowly spill across the horizon and set the clouds alight, eyes never leaving their post.

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**We have some very cryptic dialogue at our conclusion. . . Three guesses on who the speakers are, even though you only need one.**

**I enjoyed writing this chapter. I always perceived the Princesses as having a very tight relationship with each other, and their interactions were great fun to orchestrate. Event-wise, things were dull this time around, but a lot of plot points were hit on or hinted at, and some necessary characterization was fulfilled. I hope things are getting interesting. I haven't done the old A to B for a while, so I may be a bit out of practice. . . my one shots spoil me into thinking that all prose can be metaphorical sub-cognitive conjecture. XD**

**Thoughts are always welcomed!**


	3. All's Fair

**Coming of Age**

**by Cooking Spray**

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**Disclaimer: Highlight the phrase "fan fiction". Read carefully. Consult dictionary if necessary.**

**I really don't know what gotten into me with the whole "actually updating my story in a timely fashion" thing. It's bizarre. But, this is officially the longest multi-part story I have ever endeavored to write, even as of now, as is this the single largest chapter. 5,796 words, in only four days' writing time! I love writing this, and I hope I will get to see it to the finish.**

**Several uncommon relationships may crop up this time around. And when I say "uncommon", I mean in the sense that they're not necessarily what's conventionally seen in fan fiction. If they seem odd, bear with me - I have an explanation for everything.**

**With that said, enjoy!**

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**Chapter Three:**

**All's Fair. . .**

There are several fundamental lessons that young Toms are taught in their kittenhood, usually through a process of trial and error that ends with a firm scruffing behind the ears and a lecture from the Matrons. Some memorable highlights are the importance of sharing your food, the reasons why you do not peek beneath the sheet while _Mr. _Mistoffelees is performing magic, and when it is possible for a Jellicle _not _to land on their feet. After a time (or two, if you're remarkably stubborn), one usually learns to tread with a bit of caution, and grudgingly accept the wisdoms imparted to them. Still, there is one rule in particular that no Tom ever seems to follow, and it is, incidentally, the most important of all . . .

How to treat a lady.

Its strange but true - once it is discovered that Princesses don't have cooties after all, and the grand chase begins, no amount of counseling or physical admonishment is able to correct the horrible behavior of young Toms in pursuit of their female quarry. If the constant water-splashing and fur-tangling wasn't enough already, suddenly hormones are thrown into the mix. Attracting a Mate is more complex than catching a mouse for a nice midnight snack (unless, of course, you happen to be the Rum Tum Tugger). It's a phenomenon even the most high-ranking of Jellicle tribe members are powerless to disrupt - possibly because, quite honestly, no one ever really _outgrows_ it, they just find ways to get better as they go along.

The three particular Toms we will mention have quite a lot of growing up to do, however.

"I'm betting on Etcy." The declaration came from the smug jowls of a notorious bulls-eyed Tom, who was reclining on the tire with an undisguised amount of complacency. "She's crazy for me, you know? Last night I even kept her away from the Tugger."

Etcetera certainly wasn't the best-looking of the three - in fact, her figure was, at best, modest, even though she had a cute face. (To humor the Toms' primary interest, body type is always listed before character.) Still, she was never shy, and could match Pounce's energy and mischievousness well enough to keep the pace but not the lead. Of course, she could be a bit possessive at times, too. . . But she was fun, and damned adorable, and that was what was most important.

"Don't get so full of yourself, Pounce," Admetus dismissed, scoring his younger friend on his upper arm. "Electra was down here with me the whole night, too."

"Same here," Tumblebrutus bragged, waggling an eyebrow.

"I'm betting on Electra," the two Toms chorused, then glared at each other. Pouncival just flexed his claws in amusement.

Electra was regarded as the sexiest and most curvaceous of all the Princesses, although she had a reputation for being a bit of a tomboy. This combination of bold fearlessness and feminine beauty was beguiling to both the more sensitive Tumble and the devilish Addy. Her domineering was either a fascination or an abomination, depending on how willing you were to be used.

"Though Jemima's not a bad catch, either. . ." Admetus reconsidered, stroking his chin with his dewclaw. "She's much gentler, that's for sure."

Jemima, for her part, undoubtedly trumped the rest of her nursery mates in the department of looks - while her figure wasn't as hourglass perfect as Electra's, it was substantial enough. Even so, her pretty face and strikingly round eyes, coupled with her small stature and sublime grace, were elementarily attractive. She was the quieter of the three, and a bit mysterious because of it, but it was this very combination of qualities that made her so appealing.

"Ah, ah, ah. . ." Pounce shook his head, his devious grin still intact. "Didn't you see Jemi over by the Tugger last night? She was trying to get cozy. Saw it with my own two eyes."

"Well, I guess we can't completely beat the Tugger charm," Tumble said somewhat grumpily, sending a non-effectual glower in the direction of the clock face. "But, two down, one to go! That's over half."

"He hasn't got anything on us," Admetus agreed, stretching a grin and clapping Tumble on the back. Then, he remembered that they were supposed to be rivals, not cohorts, and withdrew his paw hastily, replacing it with a rather undeserved shove.

Pounce chuckled and laid himself out with languor, ignorant to the quarreling. "Don't worry, Jemi will come around soon enough, once she finds out the Tugger doesn't have anything for her," he assured confidently.

"Oh, you're just smug because you think you've got Etcy in the bag," Tumble said with exasperation. "Maybe it's just because you're easy to be had!"

Before he knew what to expect, Pounce saw Tumble (with Admetus in hot pursuit) lunging at him, and soon found himself on the wrong end of a tackle. He had been double-teamed, and for no good reason! Vowing revenge, he turned the tables back, and the end result was an extended melee across the Junkyard. The three ruffians wrestled viciously, but with no real ill intent for each other - after all, they _were_ boys. What else could be said?

"All right, break it up, you three." A new voice presided over the din of the Toms' scuffle, and the involved parties scrambled into upright positions, trying and failing to look innocent.

The owner of the powerful soprano was Jellylorum - Matron, Mate, and also Mother to one very naughty rust-calico Tom. Jennyanydots stood behind her, with Skimbleshanks in arm, looking just as stern. The expression might've been a bit more effective if they hadn't an armful of knitting needles between the both of them, though.

Jelly trounced over and swatted Admetus on the nose, somehow inspiring obedience despite the drastic comparison in height. "You're never going to impress the Princesses that way," she scolded.

When Admetus looked properly apologetic, her face lightened a bit, and she spoke not only to her son but to the group of them. "The girls wish me to tell you all that they're done with their napping, and are ready to play if you are. Be _gentle_."

The trio of young Toms grinned as soon as the words "girls" and "done" were dropped. "Yes, ma'am!"

"Aye, lads, you must treat the ladies with care," Skimble cautioned with his trademark Scottish tongue, nodding along. "I must admit, though. . . we've got a litter of soon-to-be Queens that make even me feel daunted."

"That we do," Jenny agreed with a sigh, shaking her head at the three kittens trembling in anticipation before her, already seeing the litany of un-pulled pranks and unused come-ons flitting behind their eyes.

"You heard your Uncle Skimble. Now, be off - and I don't want to have to come over there!" Jelly shooed the lot of them toward the nursery, giving a warning glance to Admetus, and then smiled wryly as she watched them scatter.

"Ah, I remember being that young. . ." Jenny reminisced, sharing the view. "It's not every day that I look on rowdy behavior fondly, you know, but they're growing up so fast!"

"Indeed. I can't help but feel like we're a surrogate family to them, of sorts. . ." The tortoise-coated Matron centered her eyes on Admetus, who was already at work trying to coerce Electra into participating in some ill-fated idea of fun with him. He was just like his father, that way.

"That's because we are, dear." Jenny put a kind paw on her friend's shoulder, and Skimble followed suit. Jelly gratefully rubbed against both of them in turn, and then the wave of nostalgia had passed.

"So, about this needlepoint, then. . ." The two Matrons, with some assistance from the Railway Cat, planted themselves atop the trunk of the TSE 1. They were at an ideal vantage point for keeping an eye on their young charges, and in the perfect position to discuss all of the good gossip that had been floating around the Yard.

"What do we think about dear little Jemima?" Jenny propositioned, deftly threading her needle with some of the embroidery thread her well-disciplined boy scouts had procured for her back at the house of her Humans. "She's become so mature already, and she'll be a proper Queen by next moon. . ."

"Jemima, becoming a Queen?" Skimble questioned, singling out the object of his Mate's conversation. Now that he had time to examine her closely, he could see that she had blossomed into quite the fine young lady - a fact only further evidenced by her reservation towards her friends' play games. "My last run must've taken longer than I'd thought. . ."

"Yes it did, dear," Jenny said, but patted the orange tabby on the thigh to show that she hadn't held the long wait against him before continuing her discussion with Jelly. "Coming of age is all anyone in this tribe is talking about, you know. I think we all just got so used to have the young ones around that they grew up right under our noses - including your Addy! In a few moons or so, we won't have anyone around to remind us of what it's like to be young and carefree anymore." She sighed sadly and made another stitch.

"Oh, I know. . . it's even more terrible to hear Gus talk about it. I'm almost beginning to share in his pessimism!" The descending dusk reminded Jelly of another related topic. "Say, there's no welcoming committee by the hole in the fence tonight. . ."

At this, the Gumbie Cat temporarily abandoned her feverish stitching to investigate for herself. Surely enough, the entrance normally used by their charismatic nightly visitor was sans its usual entourage of expectant Princesses. "Well, I'll be. . . I wonder what this means?"

"It means there's trouble brewing, that's what it means," Skimble interpreted with a chuckle.

"Sadly, I agree," Jelly assented. "I knew that conflict would rear its ugly head around here, no matter how we approached things. And it's not the ugly kind of conflict, either, concerning a Pollicle sniffing its way into our territory or anything like that. . . It's the _messier_ kind."

"Oh, don't I know what you mean." Jenny let her eyes linger on the vacant fence hole a while longer before resuming the needlepoint. "Do I _ever _know. . ."

"It's going to be a long while until next moon," Skimble said with truthful weariness, and both Matrons tittered.

Across the Yard, one wide and hopeful eye darted to the mentioned fence, and just as quickly turned away.

* * *

The Rum Tum Tugger had been doing a lot of something unusual lately - _thinking_.

Well, that was if you counted one day as "lately", and took into account his atypically sparse company. All things considered, he'd had no choice but to succumb to introspection - and Hotels, was it horrible!

All sorts of unanswered questions and propositions swarmed in his head, demanding answers and action that he hadn't the slightest clue of how to go about obtaining. Rather, they were the sort of questions that involved rational answers, and rationality was not something the Tugger had a history of excellence with.

For the record, he was blaming all of this on Jemima. If she hadn't been so whispery and insinuative about the whole coming of age thing, he might've been able to continue on in a blissfully incorrigible frame of mind until ripe old age. Perhaps time itself deserved a little of the blame, too. . . It was the reason that he'd had to cross the center of the Yard solo, enduring the Matrons' giggles the whole way. And if that wasn't terrible enough, he'd found his posse running around with the younger Toms upon arrival! Little minxes, the lot of them. His favorite haunt beneath the clock face was truly an irony.

Instead of favoring his usual method of crisis control and crashing the proverbial party, however, the Tugger did a remarkable thing - he staid back, opting to brood alone. It left him with all of those detestable _thoughts_, though, which were not at all put to rest by the sight of one selectively unaccompanied rust-black Princess. Still, like a sulky kitten deprived of his favorite catnip, he refused to degrade himself by showing face.

Maybe he'd try out this thinking thing. If nothing else, it could become a good leisure activity. . . He certainly liked the options it gave him with his current scenery. Imagination was proving itself better than dreams, even. . .

Then he recalled his grudge. Yes, the grudge. He was being _annoyed_ with Jemima. Because she was. . . disconcertingly clairvoyant? Too mature for her own good? Tiny and alone and in need of-

Oh, Rumpus Cat. He sucked at this.

Thankfully, he was saved from further mental taxation by the welcome intrusion of a familiar Queen's voice - it was good to know that at least one female still valued his company.

"Well, well, well. . . look at this, the Rum Tum Tugger all by his lonesome. . ." A striking red figure swayed into view, freshly wakened from slumber and more than a little ready to have some fun, preferably at the Maine Coon's expense.

"Bomba!" he greeted smoothly, eyes traveling from toe to head to regard the Scarlet Queen. He chose to pay no mind to the intended stab. "You're looking as. . . bodacious as ever."

Bomba raised an eyebrow and leaned back against a nearby length of piping, appearing somewhat entertained. "If you're trying to entice me with your extensive new vocabulary, you have a lot to work on."

Tugger grinned and straightened his mane in what he must've believed to be a very sexy manner. "I'll try anything _once_."

"Anything, mm?" The Scarlet Queen eyed the Tugger almost impishly, twisting her face into an expression of exaggerated skepticism. The question was, quite obviously, rhetorical. Bomba insinuated nothing by it - she had long ago stopped vying for the Maine Coon's fickle affections. The two of them were much too alike for her to even have seriously considered becoming his Mate in the first place, but he was still fun for the occasional flirt.

Through demurely veiled eyes, Bomba let her peripheral vision center on the kittens. Etcetera and Pouncival were rollicking around with some makeshift play toy, which was still quite a regular occurrence. The intentional brushes of fur that occurred during the course of the game, however, were definitely a new element, and one that did not go unnoticed. Electra was trying to get in on the action, but she kept pausing to admonish Admetus and Tumblebrutus for "being too rough" - with, of course, an equally brutal swipe to the crown of their heads. This earned her a smirk of approval from the Scarlet Queen. Electra had always been a Princess with spunk.

Jemima, however, was the one that most captured her attention. Although she was separated from the carousing of her nursery mates, her tranquility demanded more intrigue than their raucous games. She sat atop a lofty heap of Human odds and ends, silent and looking to be in deep concentration. Every once in a while, her attention would shift to the cacophony of noise below her, but for the most part, it remained fixated on the quarter moon. It was as if she was consciously watching the last days of her adolescence float past her.

Bomba slyly cast her eyes back in the direction of the Tugger. As she had suspected, his own eyes were currently occupied with the subject hers had just left. Being the Rum Tum Tugger, and all that implied, she knew he couldn't help himself. After all, the beauty of the Princess was undeniable - she had already begun to exhibit all the traits desirable in a strong young Queen. On the night of the next full moon, only a scant few days away, sweet little Jemi would ascend her kittenhood forever. It was a fact that every lusty and single young Tom was well acquainted with, Tugger being no exception (and perhaps the finest example).

"Watch yourself, Tugger," Bomba mock-chided, inwardly amused by the quick and almost guilty snap of the Maine Coon's head. "You can look all you want, but you still can't touch."

Tugger tried to act nonchalant, which was even more hilarious. "There's nothing wrong with a little appreciation for the Everlasting Cat's handiwork."

"Looked to me you were thinking about a lot more than Heaviside praises," the Scarlet Queen quipped. But aside from that, she let the matter drop. _Something _had gone on; that much was for certain. She had seen the pair together a few moon rises ago, and she knew better than to discredit Jemima's intelligence by thinking she was unaware of the precarious situation. She and the other Princesses had flocked to the Tugger charm like moth to flame almost since they were old enough to open their eyes, but as Etcetera and Electra faced their own coming-of-age, they seemed to abandon their crushes little by little every day. Even Etcy showed signs of beginning to outgrow her once prodigious Tugger obsession, which was increasingly evident in her interactions with Pouncival.

Little by little, the Princesses would seek out the Tugger's company less and less. The warning signs were already in place. And Bomba knew that this was going to create some drastic changes around the Junkyard, whether or not anyone - including Tugger himself - knew it yet.

Yes, the Rum Tum Tugger had some hard lessons in store. When his female fan base transcended their kittenish ways and grew more impervious to his pomp and swagger, he was going to at last discover that it would take more than a dashing grin and a scratch under the chin to win the heart of a Queen. Hard to imagine, yes, but entirely true.

"Much as I'd love to stand here and watch you ignore me, I have my own business to attend to," Bomba said dryly, removing herself from the pipe. "So, if you'll excuse me. . ."

Tugger broke his trance temporarily. "Business more important than spending time with me?" He clutched at his heart, feigning shock. "You don't know what you're missing out on."

The Scarlet Queen rolled her eyes. "Use it on your fan club. I'm sure there's more than enough Tugger to go around. I'm in no hurry."

"So, you're going after Munkus again, is that it?" Tugger guessed, already knowing the accusation was correct. "I hope you know you've got some competition."

The retort struck a chord, and he was rewarded with a hiss. Bomba knew full well that he was just taking out his bitterness on the nearest available source, which so happened to be her, but he was in no place to make comments about her romantic life. "You've got room to talk. Every eligible Tom in this Junkyard's placing bids on your pretty new prize, so I wouldn't be acting so cocky yet."

Tugger just smirked and raised two paws, pleased that Bomba had risen and taken the bait. Her temper never failed to be sexy, even though he was usually the cause of it. "Just saying, I'll always make room on my list for you, should you ever change your mind. . ."

"Looks to me like that 'list' of yours is shrinking by the day. But, I'm done trying to get my slice of the Tugger pie - anyone else can have at it." With a flounce, she turned to go, not waiting to hear what the Tugger thought of her declaration.

Sauntering away, Bomba did feel a little bad for being so snappy. After all, she and the Tugger were kindred spirits in many ways, and despite the Maine Coon's many shortcomings, she valued his friendship. She usually never questioned the way he chose to live his life, nor he hers, as they both knew each other well enough to be aware of the hypocrisy in such accusations. Something in the conversation had obviously hit a mutual nerve, though, and the culprit was very apparent.

Still, she prayed silently that, whatever went on, Jemima wouldn't let their resident stud off easy. She was so bright-eyed and pure and full of potential that it would be a shame to let herself be completely swayed by Tugger's cruel (but tempting) nothings. Giving the petite Princess a long last look from the shadows, she took her leave with faith that her delicate silhouette was its own sort of misleading.

The Scarlet Queen exited the scene with a tilt to her mouth. As terrible as it was to hope for it, maybe there was a chance things would finally get lively around the Junkyard again. . .

* * *

An armoire made a moderately cozy lodging, Munkustrap had discovered. Now that the nights had grown more chill, he had been forced into a less central part of the Yard to keep warm at night. As the tribe's protector, this gave him a bit of apprehension - after all, if trouble should rear its ugly head, there was no better place to be than at the center of Jellicle activity. Two particular Queens seemed to be enjoying the arrangement, though. Somehow, owning a permanent Junkyard residence gave them a license to visit him more frequently, not that it was _really _any more of an occasion than before.

At the moment, the silver tabby only entertained one guest, and that was Demeter. She had been a welcome companion for quite some time, and it was apparent to both of them that there was a mutual attraction. However, the black-gold Queen still seemed apprehensive to take the next step in the relationship, a fact that Munkustrap didn't fault her for. His feelings were genuine, and he was more than willing to be patient.

But in this hesitation, another development had taken place - a very _well-constructed_ and un-ignorable one. Its name was Bombalurina. While she and Deme had always shared a very close connection with each other, it was only in recent moons that Bomba had decided to take after her friend in matters of the heart. What her reasoning was still remained unclear, and that was the most unsteadying part of it all. Somehow, the silver tabby felt as if he had entangled himself in a love triangle, and that the only way to escape was to _choose_. This was more difficult than it sounded - as Guardian, he'd been conditioned to treat each and every Jellicle with the same amount of respect. Selecting favorites, even when he only had two options, went against this code.

The larger issue having been put aside, however, it was safe to say that Munkustrap had been enjoying the evening so far. He'd ventured into the Junkyard in the late afternoon, touched a few paws, and then settled into his newly-established den for a brief nap that Demeter had most pleasantly interrupted. Ever since, she had been filling him in on the tribe gossip - and, for the first time in a good while, there seemed to be a lot of it, although it was all in the same general vein.

"So, it's finally that time. . ." he said in response to the comment Deme had made concerning the current hot topic - Jemima's coming of age. "It does sound about right to me."

Demeter heaved a sigh. "Yes, it's that time. That's all anyone can talk about these past few nights. I have sympathy for the poor dear. . . No one's allowing her to forget her age for a moment, and she must be nervous."

Munkustrap nodded grimly, and then made a face. "Has Tugger heard the news, then?"

"I would suppose so. . ." Deme began uncertainly, before leaving the rest of the thought unfinished in response to the sound of a Queen's voice outside.

"Open up, I'm sure it's nice and warm!" Bomba purred, in lieu of an actual greeting. "And by the way, make that 'suppose so' a 'know so'. . . I just finished a conversation with the Curious Pollicle himself. He's definitely heard."

Deme and Munkus exchanged a look before unlocking one of the sliding doors. The Scarlet Queen had marvelous hearing.

Seeing her opening, Bomba jumped inside with typical feline grace, shaking the cold from her fur and grinning first at the Protector and then at her friend. The latter appeared slightly miffed, if you knew her well enough to be aware of the signs - Bomba had always known how to make an entrance, and usually got wind of Junkyard affairs before the other Queens.

"Good evening, Bombalurina." Munkustrap cordially helped the armoire's newest arrival to sit. She noted his nervousness and made it a point to invade his personal space as much as possible.

The last remaining guest only gave the Scarlet Queen an unreadable stare, and then dropped her eyes to her lap.

"So, Tugger knows then, you say?" their host prompted, trying to pick things back up where they had left off. Demeter's sudden silence concerned him, although he didn't dare let on.

"He was bound to find out sooner or later," Bomba answered with a knowing smirk. "But before you go drawing the usual conclusions, let me point out that it was sweet little Jemi who told him." The Scarlet Queen always checked her information with the Dark Twins - as leery as most Jellicles were of them, nothing that went on in the Junkyard slipped by the pair easily. Also, Tantomile's sarcasm was a continually rare treat.

Miffed or not, Demeter had to react to that. "_Jemima_ told him? But that doesn't seem like her. . ." The black-gold Queen's eyes took on a larger dimension.

"My sources don't lie. Supposedly, they had a nice moonlit conversation over it, too. While I question the kid's taste, I have to admire her boldness." Bomba grinned at the silver tabby on her left, who had obviously been surprised by the announcement.

"Oh, Heaviside help us. . ." Munkustrap groaned and massaged his temples, and Demeter leant him a consoling paw on his shoulder. "As if merely growing older wasn't bad enough. . ."

"Kittens start early these days, what can I say?" Bomba contributed her own chipper pat on the thigh. In truth, the scenario excited her - one of the things she and the Tugger shared was a mutual affection for muddles.

Demeter silently frowned. Most of the adult tribe members were fond of Jemima - she had a natural sparkle about her, and had always possessed a surreal amount of maturity for her age. As such, it was unfathomable that she would prefer someone like the Tugger. The black-gold Queen had never held a high opinion of him or his promiscuous ways. She knew that he and Munkustrap, though very much opposites, respected and were in good standing with each other. However, she had never been given an incentive to do likewise.

"Bomba, tell me this is just a silly little crush. That I could understand, but. . ."

"That's not the way I heard it." She then noticed the dislike in her friend's features that became noticeable at the Maine Coon's mention. "Look, Deme, I know how you feel about Tugger, and believe it or not, I _do _understand. But, Jemima's almost a Queen now, as we are all unable to forget, and whether you like it or not, she's old enough to go after whomever she pleases."

"Bombalurina's right," Munkustrap assented, improving his posture in accordance to the seriousness of the statement. "Being Guardian requires some measure of impartiality, but even I begin to develop opinions on some things. Still, unless there's danger or harm being done, I have no real power." He smiled somewhat self-satirically.

"You trust the Tugger, though." The black-gold Queen's statement was traced with apprehension.

"He may've temporarily broken some hearts, but he's never laid a paw on anyone in this tribe, and he's a decent fighter. Besides, you could almost say that he didn't mean to cause even that much destruction, in his Tugger way." The silver tabby smiled glibly.

"Basically, Munkus is telling you to let them go for now - but not to cut the Tugger any slack." Bomba winked.

Demeter quested for a fault in their logic, but, as usual, found nothing of the sort. "Fine," she told the both of them, with some trepidation. "You win."

"Oh, we're not the winners in this. At least, not yet. . ." She tossed a sultry glance at Munkustrap, whose reaction bordered on embarrassment. He overlooked the implication, although Demeter beside him didn't.

Pleased, the Scarlet Queen continued. "So, how long do you give Jemima and Tugger? A moon? A week? A _night_?"

"Bomba!" Demeter tried to look affronted, which only had the effect of making her friend laugh.

"Honestly, you don't expect _me _to make a bet, do you?" Munkustrap's skepticism furthered her amusement.

"You guys! Munkus, don't be so righteous for once, okay? We know you're as solid as the wood you sit on. It's incredibly attractive, by the way." Bomba experienced an uprising of glee as their Guardian turned his eyes purposely away at that. "And Deme, stop pretending you hate this kind of gossip, because I hear you and Jelly all the time. . . You know what they say! All's fair. . ."

". . . in love and war, yes," Demeter finished, releasing not the first begrudging sigh of the night. "You always were a bit too persuasive for your own good."

Bomba grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment. So, what'll it be? Munkus, are you in?"

"Know first that I'm obligated to tell you how cruel this is, and how exasperated I am with you right now. . . But, to answer your question, I'm going with a moon."

"_Oooo_, generous! You must know something I don't, then." The apparent Queen of the Poll gave her friend a nudge. "Deme, what'll it be for you?"

"A night, and nothing more." The black-gold Queen's answer was resolute.

"Fair enough, coming from you. Hm, lessee. . . I'm going to go out on a limb and say _two _moons, just so I can try and beat Munkus for once." She darted her tongue out at him, earning a shake of the head that was only halfhearted. It was her best progress all night.

"What do we get if we win?" Demeter queried, about as close to "saucy" as she ever got.

"How about we leave that up to Munkus? He does such a wonderful job at making everyone feel accomplished, anyhow. . ." Bomba arched a fringed brow at her sentence's subject, leaning in close. For the second time that night, she had the silver tabby cornered. . .

. . .And, also for a second time, he tried to dodge. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. After all, who's to say they'll get together at all?"

"So it's a surprise, then? Good. I love surprises."

Munkustrap uselessly opened his mouth, but whatever amend he would've tried to make was soon overshadowed by Bomba's explosive laughter, with even Demeter joining in this time. After that, there was simply no use in fighting it, and he submitted his own chuckling to the mix.

The only additional thing he could hope for was that the same kind of bets were not being made about _him_.

* * *

Back in the central part of the Yard, the Tugger was not having near as much luck with the opposite gender as his straight-laced superior. Fortunately, he wasn't aware of this this fact - the thought of someone like Munkus receiving romantic attention from two of the Tribe's most attractive Queens might've given him the motivation to pick up and leave. He had almost done so several times running, as Jenny and Jelly were beginning to drive him slightly insane with all of their furtive glances and patronizing smiles. And _thinking_ had turned out to be an exhaustive way to pass time, especially when all of his thoughts kept ending up in the wrong places, causing him to have to forcibly extricate himself from them - both mentally and physically,

Still, he was not yet ready to say that he was _lonely_. The Tugger didn't need companionship to fulfill his idea of happiness - he had enough personality to keep handfuls of females trailing after him at a time. It was just the cold turn the weather had taken having a negative effect on his mood. Yes, the weather - he liked that one. He'd go with it. And as soon as his winter coat grew out, he'd be twice as handsome, and back to his old self in a heartbeat.

He was just warming up to that particular idea when a distinctive pair of big blue eyes found their way into his hiding place. The sight of them was enough to tell him that the trespasser was Jemima, although the tell-tale rust-black coat that proceeded them confirmed her identity further.

Tugger wasn't going to ask any of the blatant questions he could have. At the moment, he could care less about how she had found him and why she had gone looking in the first place. Demonstrating his apathy (and, unintentionally, its emotional inverse), he simply told her to come in - paying no heed to the fact that Jemima had not yet asked to join him.

The Maine Coon's hideout for the night was a pipe - a pipe only remarkable because of its incredibly narrow width. On all fours, his visitor slithered inside, navigating the length with little difficultly due to her size. When they were an appropriate length apart, which was tricky to gauge in such a compressed space, Jemima sat. She didn't speak, but the Tugger could tell that something in her manner had changed since their last prophetic meeting. Gone was her assurance, her calamity. . . even her confusing conversation. For a reason he could not define, it disturbed him greatly, to an extent that was probably never to be admitted had he any self-respect.

Then, Jemima pressed a paw to his arm, and a certain familiarity returned to situation. For the first time all night, he was the center of _someone's_ attention - and that was good enough for his ego.

Ruffling her head fur and dazzling her with a grin, he uttered a single sentence. "If anyone asks, _I _found _you_."

And that was that.

* * *

**I sincerely hope you're still awake. . . XD And I also hope you see the significance of Tugger's last line. "_I only like what I find for myself. . ."_**

**I'm interested in how everyone viewed the character dynamics. Specifically, Jelly/Gus and the bit about Admetus being their child. . . The two aren't normally portrayed romantically, but there is a basis for it (Growltiger, anyone?). Also, in one of the scenes in the video, Addy and Jelly share an intimate pose, so this is my explanation to that. It wouldn't be believable for _all _of the kittens to be strays.**

**There are a lot of triads in this fic, too, which was totally unintentional. Jenny, Jelly, and Skimble; Electra, Tumble, and Addy; Electra, Jemima, and Etcetera; Tumble, Addy, and Pounce; and also Munkus, Bomba, and Deme. I searched for another adjective besides "trio" many times while writing, and then realized I usually never have more that three characters in a scene together. . . But that'll change as we get closer to the Jellicle moon.**

**Several other _notorious _characters will debut next chapter. I have a plan.**

**Thoughts would be loved!**


	4. Hypocritical Cats

**Coming of Age**

**by Cooking Spray**

* * *

**Disclaimer: Highlight the phrase "fan fiction". Read carefully. Consult dictionary if necessary.**

**'Lo, all. I'm trying to make one update a week, but finals and the Christmas rush have made this installment later than usual. Still, in compensation, I have tried to make it worthwhile, especially in the spirit of the holidays. I haven't run out of inspiration yet! Obligations just keep stifling my muse. . .**

**This chapter is dedicated to my good real-life friend Kitty, and she knows why. XD The portrayal of a certain character was entirely at her urging. So, if you're uncomfortable with slash, or any type of implied homosexuality, I advise you to tread with caution this time around. . . Although, if I may point out, they are _cats_, so the issue is largely negligible in my book. It's nothing that'll squick the most of you.**

**Now that you are fairly warned, do enjoy.**

* * *

**Chapter Four:**

**Hypocritical Cats**

The principal difference between being a house cat and an alley cat is, as one might be able to guess, that one has a Human home and the other does not. Typically, house cats have a reputation for acting pampered and being afraid to get their paws wet, while alley cats are commonly regarded to have grit and street smarts. But, as is the case with all stereotypes, not every cat of these descriptions sticks to the rules of their heritage. This is especially true in the case of Jellicles - while the Yard is everyone's second home, those who retreat back to the abodes of their owners at sunrise cannot be classified by any certain description.

Take Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer, for example. They were the most wily, uncouth, and shamelessly thrill-seeking duo in the vicinity, and they lived in one of the richest Human developments. The abundance of shiny and useless (but monetarily irreplaceable) knick-knacks that the wealthy seem to horde was perfectly suiting to their thieving sensibilities, though. They rarely entered the Yard without their swags filled to the brim with a new accumulation of loot.

Victoria, the inimitable White Queen, fell into the same category, although she acted more of the part. Still, she had roamed the streets since she was a kitten, and made frequent visits to the Junkyard. Diamond collar or not, it was agreed upon that Vicky was one of the sweetest Queens around - a little shy, even, though it was not evidenced in her dancing.

But although the White Queen reaped the benefits of living with her well-to-do Humans, her twin brother had not always shared the same treatment - and herein lies the paradox. They had both begun their lives as the unfortunate sort of kittens who were abandoned in boxes on the side of the road, littered by a Human family's pet (probably in a chance meeting with a Tom down the street). Whatever the case, neither had gotten to know her, as they had been an unwelcome addition to the household from birth. Thus, they were put up for informal adoption as soon as they were weaned. Victoria had been one of the lucky ones, and was taken in by a highly-paid Human male's Mate who had an affection for small, furry animals. Misto, however, was left behind. . . But even as a kitten, he'd had his magic, and that eventually let him to the Jellicle tribe. It was the best thing the runt of the litter had ever done for himself.

And, as soon as Victoria was old enough to be trusted out of the house alone, she embarked on what seemed like a hopeless search for him. Although she was worried about her other brothers and sisters as well, she and Mistoffelees had always been closer. He was the smallest, so he was often left out by their siblings - but bashful Victoria, similarly ostracized, had always loved to listen to what the little tuxedo Tom had to say. The weeks she had spent in the expensive residence of her new Humans were nice, but she had naturally missed her long-lost brother's company.

Then, after one fateful day or routine scouting, she had set prim ivory paw in the Junkyard. Through some indescribable means, she had instantly _known _her brother was there - it was probably a combination of Misto's famous magic and the bond they shared as siblings. Ever since, the Conjuring Cat was warmly received in Victoria's home, and vice versa, according each of them two of the best families a feline could hope for.

The Story of Mistoffelees and Victoria, made into proper Jellicle myth by a set of then-juvenile kittens, is only further proof that cats are transcendent of category. So, it should not come as a shock that the former, though coaxed by his sister to come home with her, had chosen to spend the day in his pipe, frosty temperatures set aside. When you grow up on the street, you grow accustomed all varieties of weather, so the cold was really not trifling. Besides, Misto always had his powers to keep him warm, should he need them - but what was of more importance than his physical comfort at the moment was the fact that he had a hunch a certain someone would be seeking out his services very soon.

By "services", he meant the wisdoms he _supposedly _possessed. Because, of course, he was Mr. Mistoffelees - magical, mystical, and other such awe-inspiring adjectives that began with the letter "m". What most of his fellow tribe members forgot, however, was that he was barely out of kittenhood himself, and therefore not really qualified to give advice. Maybe his abilities and his reclusion had earned him an air of maturity, but the tuxedo cat felt that the truth was quite the contrary. He _had _always been good at making other cats believe in things ordinarily preposterous - it came with the occupation. That didn't mean he had any clue of what to do when young Toms came to him begging for elixirs of love (and this had actually happened a few moons ago). If Misto had known how to concoct such a thing, he would've already had a few uses for it himself, namely with one very. . . oh, never mind.

Ironically, an accustomed scent then reached the Conjuring Cat's nose, and he shuffled himself into a more presentable pose upon whiff of it. Fraud or not, every magician had the liberty of being selective in their practice. He just hoped that _this_ client wasn't looking for some sort of ridiculous charm or potion himself, for he was charming enough as it stood. . .

"Oy, Misto! I know you're around here somewhere. . ." The infamous voice of the Curious Cat boomed across the Yard, surely causing anything fragile in the area to rattle fearfully. And, as if that ruckus wasn't nearly enough, he continued to strut around as noisily as possible, making it clear he wouldn't be subdued until his calls had been answered. "Quit hiding, you little coward! We need to talk."

Feeling that everyone's ears had suffered enough damage, Misto took that as his cue to obey. Slinking out of the mouth of the pipe, the drastic change in light forced him to squint. This gave him the advantage of appearing like he was scowling at the Tugger, instead of just trying to see him properly through the shock of the waning sun.

"Doesn't seem like it's _talking _you want to engage in, with that tone of voice." The tuxedo Tom's sarcasm only served to blanket just how happy he was to see his loud-mouthed visitor. He had found out long ago that it was best not to give the Tugger's ego any encouragement, unless you wanted to eclipse yourself from the conversation entirely.

"Sorry, forgot that you had such _sensitive_ ears." The Maine Coon grinned to such an effect that it almost slipped Misto's mind to be insulted.

"I can see that you've been doing well these past moons." The delivery was dry, but some part of the retort was true. Whether you wanted to deny it or not, appearances were always something that the Tugger was good at making. Especially in the opinion of the speaker. . . but that would remain one of his so-titled "eccentric confusions".

"That makes two in this tribe who haven't gone blind, then," the Tugger replied, face shifting into the pout-that-was-not-a-pout he was getting so good at making.

From there, Misto was beginning to guess at why he had been sought out. . . And if he'd had any sense at all, he would've retreated back into his pipe and left someone else to deal with the mess he knew was about to unfold. But, since the truth was far from idealistic (at least where the Tugger was concerned), he stuck around to ask another stupid question that he knew he would dread the answer to. Intuition was a rather useless talent, apparently.

"The other being whom? I must know the name of my intellectual equal, and the reason why I haven't gotten to know them better by now." The sarcasm was even thicker this time. Misto estimated that Tugger's reasoning for treating him like a confidante was that he would, most importantly, _actually _listen to what he had to say in the first place, and judge him more objectively than any Queen would. This was why it was insulting for him to be mentioned alongside one, even though the comparison was technically accurate.

"Well, you see, that's where we have to get hypothetical. . ." As if to illustrate his point, the Tugger then reclined against a nearby moth-eaten cushion. _He_ was the one with the problem, but he was making Misto work for the details, and obviously enjoying the process thoroughly.

"I wasn't aware you knew such a word. You impress me, Tugger." The true burden of unrequited love was saying all of the right things with the wrong inflection.

Two gold-limned eyes narrowed at him. "Okay, okay, so I'm being vague. . . But you're the one who holes up in that blasted pipe all the time and disappears for days on end. Tell me, what have you been doing recently that was so much more important than hanging around here with the rest of us?"

Heaviside above, the Tugger had noticed he was missing! Something was surely amiss if he'd decided to pay mind to something besides chasing after Queens, though. "If I may point out, I'm the one who's allowed to be vague and aloof, not you. Judging by the way you got my attention a minute ago, you haven't been inconspicuous a day in your life. Subtlety just doesn't suit you, Tugger."

"True enough," the Maine Coon relented with a quirk of the mouth. With the Tugger, what you saw was what you got - and what a marvelous sight it was to behold. He left all of the confusing layers of personality depth to Misto, as it was too much of a stretch to be a Queen magnet and a philosopher at the same time. He _did _have his moments, though.

"Yes, I'd forgotten about your natural curiosity. . . And since you're allowed to be _vague_, do let me indulge my own. What do you have to discuss with me that was so important you had to interrupt my napping?" If verbal flirtation was all he could get in, the tuxedo Tom would take advantage of every available opportunity.

"Oh, like Hotels you were napping. Don't think I don't know that you watch all of us from that little hidey-hole of yours." Accentuating this stab with an errant toss of his perfectly coiffed mane, the Tugger went on. "I sang the song, remember?"

"That's better answered with 'how could I forget?'." Yes, what _had _the Conjuring Cat been doing those past few days, depriving himself of conversations like this? "And now that we're even, let's get to this 'hypothetical' situation of yours."

The Tugger chuckled, and then began to circle, like an actor readying himself for what was presumed to be a very lengthy soliloquy. "Alright. So - hypothetically, I remind you - what if I say there's this Princess. This really _attractive_ Princess, who seems like she might be into me. . . Except, of course, she's a _Princess_, and I can't return the favor, right? But - and here's where it gets really interesting -"

Without letting him finished, Misto held up a paw. He knew all-too well just what was going to come out of the Maine Coon's mouth next. "Tugger, I'm sorry to tell you, but you fail at being hypothetical. You haven't even begun to tell me the situation, and you've already narrowed down my suspicions to three. . . Why don't we just disperse with all of the secrecy and call this 'Princess' by her real name, which I'm suspecting is 'Jemima'?"

The Tugger's face, which had taken on an excited pallor as he had begun his illustrious storytelling, fell significantly. "Has anyone ever told you that you're no fun at all?"

"Probably more times than someone like yourself would ever know," the tuxedo Tom answered wearily. This was worse than he had expected. If the Tugger was seriously considering pursuing a kitten, times must be rough. While this was not an unappealing thought, from an un-moralistic (and admittedly tainted) viewpoint, it said a lot. Either the Junkyard stud had allowed himself to succumb to warm, fuzzy feelings (it even _sounded_ ridiculous), or just about every Queen on the block had had their fill of him and then some. Misto knew better than anyone that a trick, no matter how alluring, was on no value after it had been pulled one time too many.

In spite of himself, some sympathy (and maybe even empathy) presided over his initial exasperation. All that the Rum Tum Tugger had going for him was, well, the fact that he was his amazingly debonair and charismatic self - and if that stopped working in his favor. . . Such a concept seemed inconceivable, but things were presenting like it had started to become fulfilled.

Mistoffelees took a good look at his troubled. . . friend. Indeed, there seemed to be a slightly sobered air about him. It didn't project itself as obviously on the surface, but the Maine Coon was about as transparent as glass when it came to emotion. Being gregarious was a two-way street - you never held anything back, but when you most wanted to, you never held anything in, either.

Of course, if questioned, Misto was sure the Tugger would firmly deny all charges. The advantage he got from being outwardly appealing had allowed him to construct a rather high opinion of himself, and one that liked to remain unquestioned and un-shattered. For most cats, the befitting term would be "arrogance" - but even those who disapproved of the Curious Cat's immitigable antics couldn't completely loathe him. In spite of all, some quality of his was perennially redeeming. As previously stated, he had his _moments_.

So, knowing fully well that it would be the death of him someday, the Conjuring Cat decided to help. Not as Mr. Mistoffelees, but as _Misto_ - someone who hoped he could be at least considered a confidante. The dilemma was far beyond anything his powers could fix, but luckily, his mind was almost as keen as all of that supernatural sparkle. And, logical explanations aside. . . really, how could he refuse?

"Alright." Misto heaved the one-word submission out, his every mannerism reading "I give up". "Hypothetically, what makes your forbidden interest in this 'Princess' so remarkable that you felt the need to mention it to me? Convention's never stopped you before."

If the Tugger had been several years younger, he might've tackled the tuxedo Tom to the ground with the glee of his victory - but, as things stood, he settled for an exceptionally wide grin. Misto, for his part, quickly changed his views to something cooler.

"Do you see the moon, Misto? Up there. . . behind that junk pile-thinger?" the Tugger questioned with great eloquence, his manner almost cloying.

The Conjuring Cat dutifully took a look at the mentioned pale white disc, almost fully reigning over the eastern sky now. "Yes, Tugger, I see the moon." His eyebrow achieved an arc. "Your point being?"

"When the moon's full, in a few nights, that 'Princess' will come of age." He shook a paw at him. "As you'd know, if you'd spent even a minute around here in the past few days with those damned gossipy Queens."

. . . And now it all made sense. Misto could just _imagine_ what they were saying. His sister had started a trend at the last Ball almost a year ago. . . He'd have to have a talk with Vicky about her influence on impressionable young minds. Next, they'd _all_ want a handsome young Tom to go with their new title. "Hypothetically?" he tried.

"Nope, it's a fact." The grin expanded, withering all of the tuxedo Tom's futile hopes on the vine.

"Factually, then."

There was a lull in the conversation, which Misto again broke.

"The facts don't suit you either, Tugger."

"What does suit me then, eh?" The Maine Coon's question was rife with trademark curiosity.

Misto thought a moment before answering. "You. You suit yourself." It _was _true.

The Tugger donned a smirk. "I knew you wouldn't let me down."

Again, it was certain - the Rum Tum Tugger would be the death of him. But, if he had to die anyway, at least it would be a cruelly pleasant demise.

Mistoffelees sighed, and extorted the company of the Heaviside-forsaken moon. "So did I."

He knew it, as he knew lots of things, and there was no stopping any of them, because foreknowledge was only so much of an advantage.

As his companion might've phrased it himself, Fate will do as it do, do.

* * *

"Shhh, I think she's waking."

"About time. The moon's nearly risen!"

"She _has_ been acting strangely lately. I believe I know why. . ."

"Oooo, is it juicy?"

"Hush, already! I told you!"

"But how come you get to-"

"Quiet, _both _of you," commanded a Matronly tone, speaking in the direction of the ring of boisterous Princesses that had formed around the last slumbering addition to their number. Jennyanydots cast the duo a stringent look, and gestured with a knitting needle. "Let Jemima get her rest. She'll join you when she's good and through, and not before."

"Yes, Mother Jenny," Etcetera and Electra mumbled glumly, fully intending to do just the opposite anyway.

Sure enough, once the Gumbie Cat had become absorbed in her needlepoint again, the two junior Princesses resumed their whispering at a lower volume.

"I didn't sleep this much. . . ever, I don't think," Etcy said, impressed. Her eyes were riveted to Jemima, who was still dreaming on obliviously. "Where did she run off to last night, anyway?"

Electra's expression took on a roguish turn. "Like I said, I have a few ideas." The toffee-colored Princess watched her friend another moment, and then threw caution to the winds. "Oh, forget Jenny! Jemi's had nice dreams aplenty by now, I'm sure. And that familiar scent on her fur is driving me crazy."

"Up and at 'em, Jemi!" Etcy kneaded her claws playfully through the fur on the rust-black Princess' flank, incessant. Her efforts produced a flick of the ears, a pair of scrunched eyes, and a sleepy yawn.

"You're wasting the moonlight!" Electra joined in, but took a more direct approach - with no warning, she gave her sleeping friend a good yank on the tail. A semi-indecent yowl heralded Jemima's return to consciousness, much to the disapproval of the striped-and-spotted Matron off to the sidelines.

"You two, for the love of Heaviside. . ." Jemima moaned groggily, massaging her rump. "Can't you find a nicer way to wake me up next time?" She struggled to sit, glowering at both of her broadly-grinning attackers.

Etcetera just shrugged innocently. "I tried being nice. It didn't work."

"Well, you should've tried _harder_, then. Ouch. . ." The rust-black Princess struggled with her head fur, trying to arrange it into the style it had occupied before she had taken her lengthy doze. She finally gave up, and came to the conclusion that a thorough bath was the only solution, unless she wanted to waltz around looking like she had the mange.

"I do believe you smell of a Tom we all know, Sleeping Beauty," Electra accused, taking no prisoners. When Jemima blanched and took an abrupt pause in her impromptu grooming, she knew she had her answer. What had happened to 'good morning' and 'did you sleep well?'.

Intrigued, Etcy leaned forward and sniffed her friend, and then drew back with a gasp. "You've been with _Tugger_!"

"Yes, she has," Electra agreed deviously, ready to interrogate. "And I'll bet that's where she was the night before last, too! I didn't think anything of it, though, because of course we were all with him when we came in. Jemi, I would've never suspected. . ."

Before Jemima could say anything in her defense, an excited white tabby Princess intercepted her, eyes shining with remembered obsessive zeal. "Is it true, Jemi? _Eeeee_! You're so lucky! You've gotta give us details!"

This was what Jemima had been afraid of all along. As she was learning, it was one thing to merely be in the company of the Tugger, and another thing entirely to be in the company of the Tugger _alone_. Perhaps there was some way to explain herself out of the situation? No good excuses (or at least, none that would sate Electra and Etcetera's appetite for detail) came to mind, however. Suddenly, her interests were being taken in a different context - now that her friends were preoccupied with the young Toms, it was somehow mandatory for her to set her sights on someone as well. Any male she was rumored to have associated with in any way would do.

The thing was, their suspicions were too close to the mark. But really, when they had paired themselves neatly off already, how could they fault her? It was such an unfair interrogation. After all, nothing had _really _happened last night. . . Well, probably not by Etcy's standards, but still. They had just talked!

"Oh, it was nothing, really," the rust-black Princess demurred, eyes flickering downwards. "You all seemed to be having fun, so I left for a walk. I ran into the Tugger, and we talked some. That's all."

Electra snorted and rolled her eyes. "It's always 'nothing' with you. That leads me to believe that your 'nothing' is actually a 'something' - especially since you can't seem to look at us when you say it."

Encouraged by this theory, Etcetera leaned forward with the toffee-colored Princess, still waiting for Jemima to spill. Something like the possibility of a romance with the Rum Tum Tugger was too thrilling to be kept secret.

How did she keep getting herself into these situations? The memory of the Tugger returning her conversation was quite rapturous enough without her having to share it with anyone. She'd been bolder than she usually ever was in seeking him out, but the fact that he didn't seem to mind was a pleasant surprise. Still, she did not think the incident was mentionable - it would be taken to imply that much more was going on between the two of them than was truthful. And that definitely wasn't the case. . . she was just a hopeless almost-Queen with a crush, and all crushes pass in time. At least, that was usually how things went. Despite her wishes for her feelings to be taken seriously, she had decided that labeling them as anything more would just make the rejection she would have to take later on all the more difficult to bear.

If she said just that, though, Etcy and Electra would still not understand. How do you explain the concept of star-crossed love to two very impulsive and uninhibited kittens? The only other remaining option was to tell the truth. . .

"Okay, so maybe that's not all, but. . ." She let her sentence trail. Both Princesses were hanging on her every word with an unsettling amount of interest. There was no way out, and it was vain to have tried to search for such a route in the first place.

Upon realization that no more options were available, Jemima sighed and prepared to lay it out, plainly and concisely. "I like the Tugger." And, for good measure, she added, "So there." It was an attempt to be definitive that failed.

After an appropriately dramatic silence had dawned, shrill squeals that could only be produced from the mouths of kittens were emitted. Even Jennyanydots slowed in her knitting and pricked an ear for whatever follow-up she might be able to give to _that_ statement. It was the first time Jemima had ever said it aloud, and now the effects were irreversible. Things were so much easier to deal with when they stayed safely in her head. . .

As soon as Electra and Etcetera began springing questions upon her rapid-fire, there was no denying that the cat was out of the bag, and bounding as far away from her control as possible.

Oh, the moon ahead. . .

* * *

The White Queen was on her way to pay a visit to brother dearest, who had been keeping post all by his lonesome in the Junkyard. He hadn't specified why in any exact terms, but Victoria had a hunch that he was hanging around hoping (and dreading at the same time, as was his nature) for a rendezvous with a specific Tom, who had once ordained his beautiful vocal cords to sing about him. She was perfectly willing to pretend oblivion, however, if the visit was not mentioned. Her hunches were significantly less reliable than, say, Tantomile's, so she could've been completely wrong. Still, he had missed out on the leftover custard squares their mistress had left out in their honor - and try as he might to refute it, she knew Mistoffelees was fond of sweets.

The Junkyard seemed invitingly deserted on this particular night, however - the colder weather was probably the reason. Victoria intended to go someplace warm and companionable afterwards, herself. Not every Jellicle had the advantage of magic to keep their bones from freezing.

"Good morning, brother," Victoria greeted, slipping into the infamous pipe that Mistoffelees had decided to call home. She yawned daintily and made a series of impressively graceful stretches before giving the tuxedo Tom a sisterly rub.

"The same to you, Victoria." Misto tried to reciprocate the show of affection, but the effort seemed half-hearted and weak. And naturally, since no change in demeanor goes unnoticed by those who had known each other in the womb, the White Queen had to cloud up her perfect young face with concern.

"Are-"

"Please, do _anything _but ask me if I'm okay. I'm no longer in the mood to delight you with my verbosity, but just know that I had a conversation with the Tugger, and that it has left me feeling very weary." The Conjuring Cat, not able to conjure another syllable, then slumped against the wall of the pipe, thoughts storming about in his head.

Victoria clamped her jaws shut, and tried to summon the appropriate words to console her inconsolable sibling. Mistoffelees had always been moody and complex, which accounted for much of his evasive nature. It was because he was brilliant, she knew, even if he didn't - no matter how dazzling a feat he performed, or clever an idea he came up with, he was always ready to point out a flaw in its design. This constant dissatisfaction fueled his desire to work harder, and become better, both of which he did with a fervor. Being the harshest critic of his own personality, however, he sometimes forgot that it was necessary to slow down and just _be_, flawed or not. Her opinion counted for little, since she would love him unconditionally, but her mutual feelings gave her a smidge of persuasive power, at least.

The White Queen sidled up to him and sat, but not so close as to be considered invasive. "So, what exactly did the Tugger have to say?"

"He thinks that I'm what Humans call a 'therapist', I believe. The Pollicle came to my den - and not very quietly, I might add - and proceeded to pour out a story about how he has decided to pursue Jemima. Who, as I am sure you have heard by now, is -"

"Coming of age, yes." Vicky sighed. "And a bigger fuss was never made about it. When I became a Queen, there was _some _talk, and _some _fanfare, but for one reason or another, the entire tribe seems occupied with this ordeal. Jemi's always been well-liked, but I think even she might be bewildered by all of this." She twisted her face. "Perhaps I should talk to her."

Misto smirked bitterly. "Well, anything the Tugger involves himself in has the tendency to become public scandal overnight. He wanted my advice on the matter, though, which was somewhat hilarious in itself - honestly, has he forgotten how to woo a lady?"

At that prospect, Victoria had to laugh. "You know, he just might've. It sounds insane, but if you think about it. . ."

Misto turned accusatory. "Before Plato pulled some of the same tricks on you, you used to lap at his heels, too."

Victoria rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Every kitten does! That's the difference between the Tugger and Plato - I share a den with one, and not the other. My Mate is similarly brazen in romantic pursuits, but he does not quail at the thought of commitment. Are you trying to say that I have a 'type', is that it? Because if so, my tastes must run in the family."

She had him pinned. Misto's ears actually laid themselves partially flat, and he hung his head a bit. "Forgive me; I did not meant to imply such a thing. Perhaps I'm just. . . unqualified to be objective in this matter."

Softened by the pathetic display, Victoria gave her sibling a benign nudge. "Perhaps you are. Maybe I overreacted, as well. Still, everything aside. . . don't you think it's interesting that the Tugger is attempting to be virtuous?"

"That's if my advice represents any sort of virtue. Either way, I don't think I could do much more damage." In response to that, both the White Queen and the tuxedo Tom enjoyed a laugh. She leaned into him, and he leaned back, putting aside his insecurities for once and allowing himself to bask in the feeling. Though he said he needed no one, Misto often wondered what he would do without Victoria - whether he realized it most of the time of not, she saved him from the darkness he too often submitted to. She understood him for him, and was, proverbially and literally, the white to his black. As such, he was more protective of her than she would ever know - or that he would like her to know. He still felt that he owed her much.

For the first time, his purr started, and Victoria smiled. She was glad to have restored her brother's well-being, if only temporarily. He deserved to be happy a great deal more often than he actually was. "At least give him the benefit of the doubt," she advised finally, knowing where her brother's thoughts would inevitably fall back. "Even if he doesn't deserve it, at least he's trying. Trying _something_, that is. Do you know how Jemima feels about all of this?"

"The implication was that she was melting under his touch, which I am more than a little dubious of. Tugger has laid paw on you before, and you are not yet a puddle at my feet. Nor I at yours, for that matter. . . But rumor is that she actually scouted him out first. I suppose that if you can have your pick, why not?" He seemed thoughtful. "It could've been my wishful thinking, but he seemed just the slightest bit self-effacing about the whole thing. He aware of it, mind you - but as you know, it is difficult for him to hide anything."

"Especially anything you can't see," Victoria reminded impishly. It was thankful that Misto's fur covered the newfound heat in his cheeks. "I wish to talk to Jemima about this. . . we used to discuss things quite often, when we were littler. I guess I've been one of those loathsome Queens who gets a Mate and forgets to keep in touch until some new scandal reminds her. I hope it won't seem like to Jemi."

Misto smiled and gave the White Queen a rub. "Don't fret. If Jemima can handle the Tugger, she's got something we're lacking. I'm sure that 'something' includes a good head on her shoulders."

"You're right, as always." Victoria briefly but warmly repaid the nuzzle, and stood. "I must go and greet my Mate. He might be terribly put out that I didn't visit him first, but I had other priorities." She was joking - Plato was probably the most lax and trusting of all the Toms in the tribe. He'd certainly be glad to see her, but he wouldn't be sent into a frenzy if she was later than usual.

"Go on, then. Send him my regards, as well." They both smiled and touched paws, and then Vicky left the way she had come, leaving Misto to his accustomed solitude. On this night, he was less welcoming of it than usual, for reasons best banished from mind rather than ruminated upon.

It occurred to him that he was, for all of his esteemed wit, more of a hypocrite than the Tugger. Even if he was the one dispensing advice, he was also the one least qualified to give it - at least his senior's actions matched his words, despite all of his passing whimsies. Mistoffelees said one thing, and did just the opposite. He supposed it was a talent acquired from the theatrics he performed - an emotional sleight-of-hand, if you will. He intimated disinterest in every walk of life, but it was usually only a veil for his truthful passions. After all, who is a magician without his aura of mystery? He was unremarkable in every way except for his magic - he could not hope to be like the Tugger, and live happily just by being himself. To have a name with any sort of importance, he couldn't simply be Misto. It was the name of a common cat, a brother, a sometimes _friend_ - no one of admirable occupation. And Misto, in his heart of hearts, thrived on the very prestige his title gave him. Without confirmation that he achieved any sort of greatness, how could he bear to be himself?

It was a silly way of validating himself, as he was, and always is, aware. But it was the one thing that made both he and the Tugger alike, in light of their insurmountable differences. This was the reason for its omnipresence in his mind. The Maine Coon had announced his interest, and he would, without a doubt, follow through with it. As for the Conjuring Cat. . . well, that was greatest irony in the situation.

Across the Yard, a notorious giggle echoed, and twin sets of footsteps pattered noisily. It was all the motivation the Tuxedo Tom needed to drift off to a deserved sleep.

* * *

**I like to write Victoria and Mistoffelees as siblings. I know they're commonly portrayed as Mates, but I choose to interpret their behavior as non-romantic. Also, I think Vicky has more personality than the flimsy femme fatale I so often see her as. **

**This chapter, while it was relatively easy to write when I had the time, seems a bit labored to me. Maybe it doesn't read that way, but aside from the exchange between Tugger and Misto (which I had a lot of fun writing), I found it a little boring, or off somehow. At least in comparison to past chapters, anyhow. I feel like I'm restating things. Tell me your thoughts!**

**Still, I bet no one can guess my favorite line. . . The theme of this chapter would have to be "the many hopeless admirers of the Rum Tum Tugger". XD I'm sorry that Misto decided to get angsty at the end. By the way, how did everyone like his portrayal?**

**Additionally, I'm on winter break now, so I plan to update at least once during that ten days. Also, I'm going to see CATS in less than a week, so that should be excellent inspiration. **

**That aside. . . I have a gift for all of you who have been chronicling or have just read this story, in the spirit of the time frame we're in. Just remove the spaces, and enjoy!**

h t tp / i m g 4 8 . i m a g e s h a c k . u s / i m g 4 8 / 6 08 7 / p r i n c e s s e s m e r r y x m a s f u 3 . j p g

**The Princesses wish you happy holidays, and I, like the sentimental cornball I am, do as well. XD Until next time!**


	5. Whispered Confessions, Shouted Secrets

**Coming of Age**

**by Cooking Spray**

* * *

**Disclaimer: Highlight the phrase "fan fic". Read carefully. Consult dictionary if necessary.**

**First off, an apology! It took much longer than I would've liked to write this, and I'm sorry for the delay. . . I promised an update on my winter break, which clearly didn't happen. If you'll notice, though, each chapter seems to be getting progressively longer. This chapter, for instance, is _double _the size of the last two - almost 10,000 words! Kudos to those who stay awake. . . XD**

**Secondly (yes, I do love my generic adverbs), I saw CATS! I went in my Tugger costume, and had a lovely, lovely time. If you live in the US, and you get the chance to see the current tour, I recommend that you go. I was pleasantly surprised by the cast's collective talent, in most cases, and of course it was awesome just to see the show live. If you want an in-depth account, PM me and I'll be happy to send you a link to the post I made about it.**

**And now that that's out the way, happy reading to all of you.**

* * *

**Chapter Five:**

**Whispered Confessions, Shouted Secrets**

* * *

In the brisk weeks of early winter, when shadows are long, days are short, and every breeze carries a nip, the Junkyard is often a place of desolation. Even those cats who hang their proverbial hat among the myriad of Human discard are often elusive, tempted to stay burrowed into the relative warmth of their dens rather than deal with the newly descended cold weather. If one were to pay a visit at this inopportune time, all that would be found is, well, junk - junk, the whistle of the wind, and the odd glimpse of fur, if you were lucky. Jellicles were, by nature, outdoor creatures, but the Everlasting Cat's most bitter season outfoxed the best of them at first - or rather, all but a select few, for whom even temperature was no object.

Tantomile was one of this number. Her twin enjoyed his daytime snoozes, but the dark calico Queen did not mind the weather or the lack of company. In fact, prowling around unseen and unhindered was one of her favorite pastimes. And at this time of year, the sun's fickle rays tended to create a havoc of shadows that were perfect for her concealment. She did not consider herself a spy, but an observer - her pleasure came from watching, and _knowing_, even if she nearly always kept the things she saw to herself.

On this particular afternoon, she had stationed herself in the cool obscurity of two large junk heaps, her fur harmonizing with the sun's inability to permeate. It was one of her favorite spots - from it, she could get a decent view of the Yard's center, as well as the outer reaches where Jellicles with Human homes often filtered in from. So far, things were still, but her sixth sense indicated that they would not remain that way for long. There were a few good hours before the moon was due to rise, and it was underestimated just how much could transpire past noon on an early winter's day.

Pollicle barks and howls echoed from some faraway alley or backyard, but Tantomile knew they were not the reason she was so alert. Whatever was going to happen would not be threatening or dangerous; she could divine that much. Still yet, it was an event that called for her undivided attention, which either meant it would be terribly _interesting_ or greatly humorous. Today, she was hoping for the former - there had been a lot to chuckle over recently, despite all of the commotion over the approaching full moon, but only snippets of things that held true intrigue. Besides the obvious, that was, and Tantomile did not even want to exhaust herself with those premonitions at the moment.

As if in response, the form of Jellylorum presented itself, looking considerably less composed than usual. Tantomile knew that she had just come from taking care of her elderly Mate, as she did at the same time every day, without fail. It was only a guess, but Tantomile attributed the tortoise-coated Matron's shift in mood to Gus' decline in health. He was very old, even for a Jellicle, whose lives often stretched significantly longer than that of an average house cat's. It would not be a surprise if he was selected to be the Jellicle Choice at this year's Ball - in fact, it was safe to say that she had already been enlightened of the fact.

The dark calico Queen concentrated on the Yard's newcomer. She did not head straight for the nursery, as she usually did - although, by now, she could probably afford to dawdle, as the kittens were quickly creeping up on adulthood, and no births had been witnessed for quite some time (but that could easily be remedied). The other reason for her hesitation probably involved her son. Admetus' resemblance to his father was becoming more evident by the day, and at times, he even displayed the same jocund manner and energy that Gus had on stage. The time he wasted on practical jokes did not make his talent for acting any less apparent, either, as everyone could vividly recall his debut as the Rumpus Cat from last Ball.

Tantomile continued her critical examination. Jellylorum looked slightly distraught as she idled by the TSE 1, perhaps hoping that Jenny would let her boy scouts off early today and that she'd have someone to confide in. This, more than anything, made Tantomile's sympathies go out to her. Jelly was entering the autumn of her years, but Gus had always been her senior by far. It had been one of those romances that had happened in spite of all conflicts and differences - Tantomile had been too young at the time to recall the details, but the older Jellicles spoke frequently of the courtship. Deuteronomy, back in the days when he was fitter and full of health, had been skeptical of their relationship, but as the story went, the Theatre Cat had completely won him over in time. Gus had since proven himself a very worthy induction into the tribe, and even in his later years, his storytelling gift had not deserted him. Tantomile would miss the vivacity he was able to inspire, regardless of all of the handicaps age had bestowed upon him.

While the dark calico Queen gazed at the grieving Matron, sharing in her existential sorrow, she felt a strong presence advancing on her. Turning, she heightened her senses, but by the time her eyes had swiveled in the direction of the intrusion, her body relaxed. The "strong presence" was only an Abyssinian Queen creeping around the bend, looking satisfied with her stealth.

_Only half of the Dark Twins? _Cassandra mused in the silky tones of her mind-voice, stretching her lanky form and allowing her question to taper off into a yawn. She sidled up to Tantomile with leisure, trying to share in her view.

_The last time I checked, one and one made two_. The rebuttal was not unfriendly - Tantomile considered Cassie a closer friend than most. Although she was content with the license for introversion her reputation among the tribe afforded her, it did not mean she was above being companionable. For her age, Cassie had already had a wealth of wisdom and talent - the extraordinary abilities that gave her the right to refer to herself as a Jellicle. She could play coy and come across as uppity, when her mood saw it fit, but in the end, she had what it took to back her airs up. In this respect, she and Alonzo were very well-suited for each other.

_Forgive my arithmetic this early in the day._ Cassie found a shadow accommodating to her tawny coat, and crouched down into it, one pale eye affixing itself to Jellylorum. _Spying again, are we, Tantie?_

_I would've supposed you'd be home now. Won't your Humans worry?_ The dark calico Queen ignored the sarcasm to maintain her examination of Jelly, as she knew Cassandra would only take the chagrin lightly. The Matron seemed to have gathered her wits about her, but there was an undeniable touch of sadness in her eyes. For as long as she had known her, Tantomile had never seen her wear a face quite like that.

Cassandra continued the joust, but her interests were now also primarily invested in the mystery of Jellylorum's sorrow. _They're out of town for the week. I am free to come and go as I wish. . . and I prefer to do the latter rather than the former. The other Human woman looking after the house is liable to mistake me for a rug and try to suck me up in that awful machine of hers._ She sniffed in distaste.

_How very typical for a pampered house cat such as yourself to complain. _The comment was accompanied with a wry smile, and no traces of true resentment. In the meantime, Jellylorum took it upon herself to disappear into the nursery, apparently considering herself recovered for the time being. Tantomile would not soon forget what she had witnessed, however. It reminded her of just how soon the next Ball actually was, and all that implied.

As soon as the audience to their conversation had departed, Tantomile slipped into a verbal pattern of speech again. "Why is it that you're about so early? One would think that with such a fortunate arrangement, you would enjoy sleeping in. . ."

The Abyssinian Queen smirked, not lost on the insinuation. Her black-and-white Tom had looked rather provocative a moment ago, but there is only so much of a good thing one could have, and the memory of last night was enough to please her for the time being. "In truth, I was disturbed by a dream, and couldn't quite fall back asleep. I have a hunch it might be one of the omens I sometimes receive, and since that is your specialty, I decided a discussion was in order."

Tantomile looked grave at the announcement. "I had figured your dreams would not be peaceful, either. Mine have been quite vivid for weeks, but I cannot yet determine what it is they foreshadow."

Cassandra nodded, diverting an unflinching stare to the sun, with eyes used to the swelter and glare of the desert. "They do not compel me, so I don't believe whatever it is that awaits us poses a threat. I am sure that you also feel this. . . But still, the vision is unusually blurry." A thought seemed to strike her. "Does Coricopat also See this?"

"He Sees all that I do. He is not as concerned with this premonition, however. It is different than the terrors that kept us on our toes last Ball." Tantomile narrowed her dark eyes, now absorbed in the vision. It cautioned of change, and disruption, but these prospects left her with no feelings of anxiety, even though the causes for such powerful movements had not been revealed to her. It was as if a dark, impenetrable cloud was shrouding her clairvoyance. She had but a hazy and dim idea of what the vision was trying to tell her, and even so, it was illogical for any of the hunches she entertained to be deserving of dreams as deep and mysterious as the ones that plagued her sleep. The dark calico Queen was at an uncharacteristic impasse. She did not think it wise to mention anything to the Guardian or the Leader quite yet, though, until things cleared a bit. Munkustrap, especially, would worry, and the tribe was abuzz enough without the added burden.

"The Ball _did_ teach us to be more careful, you must admit. I did not take those premonitions as seriously as I should've." Cassandra's features were set and serious. "Perhaps Mistoffelees could aid us. I know that he is a Medium, and not a Seer, but I have collaborated with him before - there is a reason why they refer to him as 'magical', and it is not just because the Tugger thought it went well with the rhyme and meter."

Tantomile twisted a corner of her mouth. "We both know that the Tugger does not give such things much consideration, anyhow."

"True, indeed." Cassie smiled along, and then deadpanned again. "I will consult with the magician, and gain his opinion. If nothing else, we will have his services on standby, should we need them."

"Best of luck finding him. He excels at that disappearing act of his all too well." Tantomile rose to her full height, and placed her paw over the Abyssinian Queen's. "I am off to consort with my brother, and perhaps join him in the remainder of his slumber."

"Do not let your dreams overwhelm you, in any case." Cassandra gave a stately bow, and her mentor responded in kind.

The dark calico Queen then retreated, and was again swallowed by the cove of shadows that led to her den. _You too, Pharaohess._

With a small, slowly-spreading smile, and the echoing ring of Tantomile's mind voice in her head, Cassandra slipped out of sight herself.

Her pharaoh was far from royalty, but he would do for the moment - premonitions could be dealt with later.

* * *

Demeter was tired.

Fatigue often plagued her these days - it could probably be accredited to the fact that she had only been able to sleep for an excess of a few fitful hours at a time lately. She feared her unceasing weariness was making her behave even more erratically than it was presumed she did already. Lack of rest did tend to make one prone to hallucinations, but now, in the dark enclave of her den, all she saw was red - in both the figurative and literal sense.

Bombalurina, the indomitable Scarlet Queen, was stretched out on her back, in as much a torpor as she was ever seen. Her eyes, unlike Demeter's, were tranquilly fastened shut. Her tail twitched a rhythm against the black-gold Queen's thigh, and from her larynx there radiated a contented purr, indicating a blithe state of undisturbed slumber. It was a slumber that her friend desperately wished she could partake in, but as was so often the case, the things that Bombalurina made appear effortless were those that she faltered in her mimicry of.

Don't mistake her, Deme loved Bomba dearly. Ordinarily, she would've been the sort of Queen that shy, skittish Demeter was sure to avoid, but there are situations that cause the most inexorable bonds to form in the most unlikely of cats, and such was the case with the two of them. And Demeter had not _always _been so fragile. Even she could remember a time when she garnered just as much attention as the Scarlet Queen - of course, she had been much younger and much more naive then. But one was always tempted to dismiss bygone behaviors with such a description once they had well outgrown them. . . And "outgrown" was not really even the proper word.

Such things were history, however. In the past, with no need to be dwelled upon - except for the fact that it seemed all Demeter excelled at recently was this sort of angst-ridden introspection. She had so much to be thankful for. . . Why, then, could her mind only focus on the negative?

The black-gold Queen sighed. She owed everyone in the tribe nothing but gratitude; more gratitude than she could ever possibly express, even if she tried. And Bomba - _Bomba_! She had helped her find her way out of the wretched walls of that Hotels-damned Asylum (even if she had helped herself get caught between them in the in the first place. . .). If it had not been for her, she would've remained a shamble of a Queen, trapped with only those horrid echoes of laughter to balm her. She was still ruined, in any event - at least, in an effective comparison, as she had learned to think of it. But it was much better to be ruined and living in the Junkyard, rather than in that unspeakable place, where she would be ruined forever.

Even so, jealousy pricked at her fiercely every time she laid eyes upon her den mate these past moons. Bombalurina was Bombalurina, and always had been - sensual, fun-loving, witty, flirtatious. There was seldom a time that she hesitated to find her footing in any situation, which was another of the many things about her that Demeter had always envied. Bomba had suffered all of the same things she had, and seemed none the worse off for it; while she still cowered and shrunk, even all these years afterward. You could lay eyes upon the Scarlet Queen and never suspect that there existed a day of tragedy in her past - but with Demeter, you looked and you knew. She was marked, somehow. While Bomba's self-confident beauty inspired appreciation, the look that Deme most often received was pity. Always a _you poor thing_, and never more.

The only cat who had never once dismissed her this way, besides Bomba herself, was Munkustrap. To this day, Demeter did not know why - despite her struggle to effervesce the pathetic image she seemed to project, she had also realistically accepted herself as a wreck of who she had formerly been (and that persona probably wouldn't have wanted the slightest thing to do with him). This had never been a matter of any importance to the Guardian, however. From the very first days that she had lived among the Jellicles, still afraid to utter a syllable to anyone and scarcely able to do anything more than curl insecurely into Bomba's side, he had treated her with respect. Respect, and a gentleness she did not think she could've deserved, at that point. The silver tabby was one of the least judgmental felines she had ever encountered, and because he was so patient with her, and seemed so genuinely concerned with her well-being and intrigued by her company, she quickly warmed up to him. On the inside, at least - her experiences had made her mistrusting, and she had always been shy in the face of the affections of other Toms. . . at least, _almost_ always. She had grown more attached than she had suspected she ever would, and while this frightened her, Munkustrap's quietly insistent attentions could not help but endear her to him. He never pressed her, and gave her all the space and time she needed - he even tolerated her dark twists of mood and her quirky tendencies, when it was certain that any average male would turn away and give up.

Deme was secretly grateful for the allowances Munkus made for her difficulties. She was aware of her emotional complexity, and knew that this asset could be potentially burdensome, at times. She could not correct her instinctive peculiarities, but the fact that someone understood and accepted them. . . It was a feeling different than she had ever experienced, and could not properly illustrate in the arrangement of words.

Now, however, Bomba (who had everything already) was destroying this for her. She could not tell her dearest friend how much her latest romantic venture injured her, because really, Munkustrap was not _hers_, and she was admittedly inept at expressing any feelings that would lead to a contradictive impression. Still, she had thought Bomba might've at least had some inkling, and might've _thought _of her, even in passing. . . What a selfish wish. How was someone expected to know something that she purposely kept so well-hidden, out of terror that it might overwhelm her and that she might have to do something about it? The Scarlet Queen had just beaten her to the punch. It was not surprising. She had hesitated, like the coward she was, and she would pay the price.

The black-gold Queen's entire posture took an anguished turn, eyes still lording over Bombalurina's sleeping figure. If Bomba intended to make the Guardian her next conquest, couldn't she at least understand that her own love, though hardly as obvious as her vulnerability, was no petty thing? And couldn't Munkustrap? The way he had behaved toward Bomba a few nights past had stung, however unreasonably. Demeter would not deny her friend's irresistibility herself, and did not wish her any discord, but she had not considered Munkus susceptible to Bomba's style. The Scarlet Queen, much like the Tugger, thrived on the results her flirting and teasing afforded her, and the silver tabby was not a Tom you would come to with such an objective in mind. Why, then, had she managed to fluster him so? Was he finally tired of waiting for her?

Munkustrap, although it was by no means official, had generally been understood to be forbidden territory between she and Bomba. The Scarlet Queen would always have her pick of the Toms she so easily beguiled, but Demeter was not so fortunately endowed - she was immensely lucky just to have what she did, and no matter how she came across, she did not take it for granted. All things considered, how _could _she? If Bomba took that from her, she would not only lose one part of her delicate world, but the other, as well. . . And survivor though she was, the black-gold Queen did not know if she had it in her to rise from a second devastation, especially with no one at her side to help her to stand.

Again, she had allowed herself to get lost in another depressing train of thought. Her eyes ached even more fiercely, as a result, but as she attempted to put herself to much-needed rest, she saw that the light patterned on the den's floor was tinged with the salmon of sunset - no matter how long she managed to shut her eyes, she would still awake feeling tired. Demeter cursed the moon's ascent. In kittenhood, the days had always seemed longer, and she'd never had difficulty letting sleep claim her.

Bomba stirred, her Jellicle senses well-attuned to the lunar cycles. There was a smile on her face, as if in response to a pleasant dream. Demeter, feeling her most miserable, lay herself down and burrowed into the pristine white fur of the Scarlet Queen's chest, hoping that just by being closer to her, she could be part of the whatever subconscious fantasy her friend was engaging in, too. Anything was preferable to her own thoughts.

With a sleepy sigh of content, Bomba accommodated the new warmth by purring loudly, making Demeter reminisce back to days when they had slept intertwined like this for hours on end. She had been so alone, and so frightened, but all it had taken was a familiar face and a caress to soothe her.

If only things were still so easy. . .

But that was the problem - she had too many 'if only's, and no 'for sure's.

* * *

Back in the center of the Yard, the sky was rapidly casting aside the mottled shades of sunset for the darker, more elegant colors of evening. The rumor going around was that the Protector was due to make a tribal announcement sometime after the moon had risen, presumably concerning the festivities that would take place on the upcoming full moon. As such, things were more crowded than usual - Victoria and Plato had set up camp near the oven, and Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer, who had pranced into the Yard a short time earlier, making the trademark ruckus, were contentedly sifting through their new inventory around the tower of tire tread. Cassandra and Alonzo lounged a way off, with the Dark Twins nearby, and the elusive Mistoffelees was intriguingly wedged between the two pairs.

Of course, the Matrons were reigning over the youngsters from their standard outpost on the TSE 1's rear bumper. There had already been an incident involving a scheming bulls-eyed Tom, an unsuspecting white tabby Princess, and a tin full of water. It was yet another attention-catching attempt gone awry, only proving just how well Etcetera could wail, if anyone had forgotten from the last Ball. Drowned and fuming, she had been escorted away from the scene by Jelly and Electra, and Pouncival was given another of Jenny's famous rebukes, if he hadn't already had his fill. Currently, the sodden Princess was whispering at the base of the tire with her toffee-colored friend, and it was not hard to guess what about, judging from the glares they kept throwing over at the trio of Toms.

However wicked of her it was, though, Jemima was just glad to have some peace and quiet to herself. Ever since the shock of last night's admission, she had suffered through subsequent rounds of probing on the subject of her now-public feelings, leaving her weary and all the more aware of her hopelessness. In the tumult, she had escaped to seat herself on the big chair, seeing how its customary occupant was absent, and was attempting to focus her mind on something less destructive to her self-esteem than what she had been forced to concentrate on for the past twenty-four hours.

Just as she thought she might be having some success, a _woosh _and a _thud_ startled her. She looked up to see one Pouncival leering over at her from a wooden arm, boyish features all alight with the joy of fresh gossip - clearly, Etcy could not resist running her mouth, and a little water hadn't changed anything. She braced herself for what she knew was going to happen next.

"So, Jemi, what's this I hear about you developing a soft spot for the Tugger? Well, I mean, you've always had a soft spot. . . but, a _softer_ spot, so to speak?" His eyebrows rose and fell with comical speed.

He certainly cut right to the chase. "It's exactly what you've heard it is," Jemima answered miserably, not even bothering with defenses she knew would fall on deaf ears. "Can we just leave it at that? It's embarrassing enough as it is without being prodded and made to feel worse."

"Aw, Jemi, I would never prod you. . ." She shot him a look that obviously expressed a differing opinion. "Okay, so maybe I would. But I can't help it! I'm just curious, is all. Well, not that kind of curious - the kind you like, that is - but you must understand-"

Jemima was now looking at him with eyes so mournful and pleading that he actually, for once, shut up of his own accord without her ever having to say a word. "Er. . . sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I'll be quiet now."

The rust-black Princess sighed. "It's okay. It's not your fault, really." And it wasn't. If anyone were to blame, it would be her two supposed best friends and their loose lips - that, and her own stupid feelings.

Pounce fidgeted awkwardly for a few moments, even though he had been absolved, and then chanced another question. "So. . . do you _really _like the Tugger?" He still couldn't contain his curiosity, which was rather ironic considering the subject at hand.

Jemima looked down, choosing to overlook the jokester Tom's transgressions. After all, _she _couldn't help herself, either. "Yes."

Pouncival seemed to consider this monosyllable for a few moments (which included a lot of squinting and flamboyant mouth twisting, presumably to aid the thought process along) before speaking again. "As in, _like_ him, like him?"

She shrugged, slowly becoming nonplussed by all of the questioning. With as many times as she'd answered queries like these, she should've written a script for herself to save time in thinking of a reply. "Maybe. I suppose I'm too young to be sure yet, really." Actually, she was sure that the answer was the affirmative, but this topic was growing old fast.

"Well," Pounce began, improving his posture to give his statement a more imperious delivery, "if you ask me, I say you look just like Vicki did when she was hanging around Plato about a year ago. And they're Mates now, so you can't tell me that's not _like _like!"

Jemima smiled wanly. "I'm not sure whether or not I'm supposed to take that as a compliment, but thank you anyway." Following this, her face took on a musing expression. "And since it's only fair, now that you know a secret of mine. . . although it's really not such a secret any longer. . ." She cast an unkind look over at the tire, and then continued. "What is going on between you and Etcy?"

The young Tom's face lit up noticeably at the mention, but he realized his faux pas and arranged his expression into something more smug. "Well, of _course_ she can't keep her eyes off of me." The memory of his earlier prank returned, though, and lowered both face and ears a notch. "Usually, that is."

His listener (who was thankful to for once not be doing the talking) smiled inwardly. Pouncival was too adorable. He tried to act bigger than who he was, but his calamitous inclinations always spoiled the rouse. Jemima had always thought that he and Etcy were a well-matched couple, so it wasn't a terrible surprise to have discovered that the two had come to terms with this theory themselves. In a manner of speaking, of course. . . but she bet that it was only a matter of time.

"Dousing someone with cold water isn't really a good way to get their attention," Jemima chastised.

Pounce continued to look glum. "I know that _now_. And what do you suggest would be a good way to impress her, eh?" Mischief crept into his features. "Should I start wiggling my hips and practicing my falsetto?"

Jemima sighed ruefully. There it was again. . . "I think Etcy, unlike me, has mostly moved on from that." She looked at him seriously. "You do really care for her, don't you? Well, what I mean to ask is: you aren't just leading her on, right?"

Solemnity overtook the young Tom, and actually managed not to make him appear like a caricature. "I dunno. Well, I guess I care for her, yeah. . . and I _do_ think she's pretty cute. Don't tell her I said that, by the way." He grinned briefly, and then resumed his contemplation. "I just dunno. . ."

". . . if it's love?" the rust-black Princess finished knowingly.

Pounce looked slightly confounded by this new information. "Yeah, I guess that's it. It seems so weird to say it, though - I am a Tom and all."

"Well, my predicament and yours have something in common, it seems. Who would've thought?" She gave a flippant smile. "_You_ may actually have a chance to find out, though, if you apologize."

The carelessness with which she phrased that last bit of self-depreciating advice inspired some sympathy in her listener. He was bad at this kind of thing, but he felt obligated to _try_. "Hey now, Jemi. . . Don't be so down on yourself, okay? Don't tell Etcy this, either, but _I _think you're very beautiful, and very smart. If that shifty Pollicle of a Tom doesn't want you, then he's the one who should be feeling bad about himself." He watched for a reaction.

"Thank you, Pounce." If only her heart longed for someone like him - Etcetera, no matter how vehement her anger at the moment, was lucky. The young Tom may've been unruly, and a bit slow on the uptake, but he always meant well in the end (well, with a few small exceptions). All were fine enough qualities for a potential Mate - it was no surprise that none of them appealed to her.

The petite Princess seemed momentarily cheered by his assurances, but her smile still did not reach her eyes, and soon faded. Pouncival didn't suppose it was anything that was in his power to remedy, though, despite how much it concerned him. That stupid Tugger. . . If he ever _really _hurt Jemi, he wouldn't hesitate in laying his claws into him. For now, though, he had his own (and hopefully less violent) amends to make.

"Well, I'm gonna go see if I can make it up to Etce." He leapt off the chair, rolling smoothly to his feet on the ground below, and gave her a long last look.

"Alright. Just remember to be nice. . . As you've proven to me, you _can _do that, when you're not trying to show off." If truth be told, Etcetera was more wounded emotionally by the practical joke than she was physically. She was probably still sulking, but Jemima knew that a humble apology would fit right in with her idealized notion of romance. They would make peace before the moon had risen, and things would be back to normal again. . . or mostly normal, that was.

"Gotcha, m'lady." He mock-saluted, pleased to be the cause of another of Jemima's smiles, and then bounded off. She watched the two of them, catching pieces of the conversation now and then, and was pleased to note that Etcetera seemed to accept the apology with only some amount of diffidence (most of which appeared to be manufactured purposefully for the occasion). After they'd finished their individual spiels, though, the two Princess made room in their adoptive seating chart in the young Toms' honor - and while the arrangement was quieter than usual, it was clear that everyone had been forgiven.

As Fate would have it decreed, this was the exact moment that the Rum Tum Tugger decided to make his fashionably late debut onto the scene. One might swear that he calculated his entrances so that they would occur only during times of optimum attention-attracting potential, but that was only if they did not know how poorly the Tugger fared with logic of any kind. Nope, he was, frustratingly, a natural at making these sorts of waves, easy as that. It was quite the infuriation, especially if you happened to be one of these aforementioned logical cats - Macavity could stand to take a few notes.

The Maine Coon was not the least bit chafing to the eyes, but this was nothing out of the ordinary - and it's not usually your _eyes _you have to worry about, but your senses of self-assurance and propriety. His audience seemed unaccustomedly tepid, though - Victoria ventured a smile, and her Mate an exuberant pump of the fist, which the Tugger returned, and both Mungo and Rumple gave frantic waves, but everyone else remained un-phased. Even Misto and Cassie deigned to properly acknowledge him. The last part wasn't really such as shock, though, and seeing how, at the moment, she had her arms locked tightly around Alonzo's neck and the rest of her svelte body decisively positioned in his lap, it was quite possible that she was too comfortable to risk stirring any of her Mate's wrath. But Mistoffelees only offered up an aberrantly short nod, seeming deeply immersed in some likely foreign train of thought. For some reason, his inattention made the Curious Cat especially irked. He could always at least count on the magician for moral support. . .

Jemima had slipped down from the big chair and over to the virtual kitten collage at first sight of their new visitor, assuming that it was best to try and mimic the actions of her nursery mates and thus limit the chances of being singled out (or, rather, inadvertently singling _herself_ out). As soon as the Tugger sauntered their direction, though, both Etcetera and Electra pushed her forward with them, wearing uncomfortably insinuative smiles. She wanted to shrink.

"Hi, _Tugger_," the two Princesses purred nostalgically, anointing their new subject with a variety of fur-on-fur salutations (the three abandoned young Toms did their best to avoid seething). Jemima hung back at first, but eventually was forced by all of the boring eyes (the worst of which were Tugger's own) to step forward and do likewise.

"Hello," she said in the faintest of timbres, affording a single brief nuzzle of the head to the center of the Maine Coon's chest and stepping to the side with her fellow groupies. He looked amused, and she wanted to crumple all over again.

Also, from this angle, she could see Jenny whispering something into Jelly's ear, eyes alternately settling on her and the rest of the posse, Tugger included. Even the Matrons knew, now? How much worse of a fix could she be condemned to?

Her question was answered when Etcetera and Electra demurred their usual seating arrangements ("seating" meaning that they preferred using the Tugger to drape themselves over rather than any of the less plushy surroundings), although the declination was also interspersed with copious amounts of giggling and darted looks at the odd rust-black Princess out. Instead, they resumed their seating across the central part of the Yard at the tire's base with the young Toms. The duo extended their invitation to Jemima (mostly for posterity), but she merely shook her head - she'd feel like a third wheel in their company, considering how little she had joined in their usual games as of recent. That, and she'd suffered quite enough teasing for the day, at least. . . Of course, this also left her alone with the Tugger, a prospect that, while not undesirable, also made her a little apprehensive.

"Well, Jemi, looks like it's just you and me for the night, again," the Maine Coon sniffed, watching the two younger Princesses skitter off in the direction of their new accommodations with much high-pitched laughter. His expression, if worn by anyone else, would've been described as a mild pout.

"It seems so," Jemima answered quietly, also watching the pair's retreat. She almost wished she would've joined them, now that the awkwardness of the current situation sunk in, but as she had contemplated before, she didn't really know whose company would be worse on her nerves. She was trapped. So far, if this was the life she'd have to get used to as a Queen, it didn't seem like very much fun. . .

He led her to his seat under the clock face then - it was still strangely familiar. Why, oh why, had she told him so much that night? For a while, she and the Tugger just remained side-by-side silently. Jemima seemed apprehensive to sit too closely to him, for a reason he had a slight hunch of. But after a while, she gradually allowed herself to relax enough for him to put a tentative arm around her shoulders, bringing her body so that it was resting against his side. It was nothing different than what they had done in the past, but without the rest of the appointed Tugger posse there, it seemed significantly more intimate. Accordingly, Jemima's pulse quickened, although it was much against her will. She tried to resist the temptation of making herself comfortable in the new position, but it was too favorable not too. Why did he have to be so loathsomely. . . Tugger?

Since nothing that concerned a Queen's (or almost-Queen's. . .) body usually went past the Tugger unnoticed, he was aware of each of these things as well. Ordinarily, having this effect on a female would've given him a great amount of self-satisfaction, but the feeling of the Princess' wildly beating heart against his ribcage only reminded him of the possible repercussions of the situation and what it could lead to. If he decided to pursue Jemima, he knew she would want something out of him that he wasn't sure he was prepared to give - something emotional. In all of his experiences with females (and there had been many), serious emotional attachment was never a major equation. Most of the Queens he had been with in the past had seemed to understand that the Tugger did not have any desire to be tethered, and the relationships were built from there, mainly culminations of lust and physical attraction, none of them lengthy - there was no need. Jemima, however, was a different case entirely, even ignoring her tender age in comparison to his own. He was so used to treating and thinking of her as a kitten that he didn't know if he had it in him to be so cruel to her. Correction - he did _have_ it in him (he was the Tugger, what didn't he?), but there was this thing called "restraint" that Misto had seemed to like to impress upon him during their little chat last night, and he was trying to give it a spin.

Looking at the situation from a different perspective, there were also other non-ignorable factors to consider. Certainly, he found the rust-black Princess attractive - there was no mistaking that. He would be doing a discredit to his reputation to deny something so obvious. She was also unlike most other Queens he knew, which was perplexing - at the very least, he would like to get to know her, in a way that did not invite an accompanying waggle of the eyebrows (although he certainly wouldn't _complain_). She was a talented singer and dancer, already in a caliber with the older Queens, but there was an uncalculated element in her movements, a very free-flowing quality that seemed to come from some inborn, compulsive source within her. Even Victoria, as talented as she was at ballet, could not quite duplicate it. It was directly related to her keen observation, and her talent for correctly perceiving those things that went under everyone else's noses. This trait, more than anything, drew the Tugger to her, and he was sure he wasn't alone in his curiosity.

But was it worth it? Tugger was uncharacteristically hesitant, for one of the few times in his life thus far. Although he didn't generally make it a habit to become emotionally involved (read: _always_), as he consistently enjoyed re-emphasizing, his relationship with the Princesses, including Etcy and Electra, was the closest thing he had to actually caring. That wasn't to say that he didn't give a damn about any of the other tribe members, because he most assuredly did, in his way - but whether he had realized it before or not, he had spent so much time around the trio that he had almost considered them surrogate siblings, of sorts. Perhaps that was bit incestuous, admittedly - that wrung a mental chuckle - but one way or the other, he genuinely cared about their well-being, and wanted to see them go on to live long, happy lives. Well, maybe he wouldn't phrase it like that - given that it is the Tugger we are speaking of, maybe "get curvy and remember to shag like crazy" was more appropriate. His disciples had to preserve _some_ of his philosophical integrity. It was a wish so utterly paternal it almost disgusted him, but the responsibility had developed unconsciously. He hated that about feelings - they crept up on you with little warning. And the Tugger did _not _like to be surprised.

Still, he found that this argument was only half-convincing, which was a bit of a shock to even himself. Was he, too, developing a fondness for the rust-black Princess curled against him? Her light purring, coupled with the embarrassed look on her face, urged him to say yes, but he knew those weren't very good reasons.

Thankfully, a glint of notorious silver fur was spotted slipping around the edge of the tire, and he was saved from his own ruminations for the moment. Especially since the new arrival had not one Queen, but two flanking him - now _that _was interesting. He'd have to thank good old Munkus later, and possibly offer him congratulations. Maybe he'd underestimated Bomba the other night. . . He smirked, and reminded himself to do the Scarlet Queen likewise. Mr. Twisty Knickers was a tough case to crack.

Letting the larger issue drop, the Tugger concentrated only on the warm softness of Jemima's lithe body against his own, and pricked his ears for whatever it was Munkustrap had to say. All _thoughts _could wait until later.

The Guardian took the tire, and Bombalurina flaunted herself around to sit near the Matrons, enjoying the looks that she was getting from the association. Tugger smirked. Demeter followed, giving no accentuation to her own walk - but of course, it was not surprising for _her _to have been with Munkus.

With the Princesses (well, what was left of them, anyway) running the gamut of welcoming intimations on his legs, Munkustrap addressed his adoring public. "Good evening, fellow Jellicles!"

The Tugger couldn't help but snort. "And he _wonders_ why we make him the narrator. . ."

Oblivious to the insult, the silver tabby continued. "I have gathered you all together on this night for one reason, and that is to ready you for the night of the full moon a few days ahead. As you know, we are approaching the next Ball, as well. . . preparations, as well as precautions, must be made and taken. And during this interval, several of our number will also grow older - we will honor them accordingly. It is winter, but it is a busy time, and I ask that you all try to work together for the sake of our Leader. . ."

He droned on like that for quite some time, going into Full Authoritarian Mode. Tugger lost interest somewhere in the middle of the speech, and yawned, twirling the ends of Jemima's head fur to keep awake. He found that her coat was extremely touch-sensitive, and enjoyed the twitches she gave to his ministrations. Her expression fluctuated from being dazed to being mildly annoyed, and the fact that she seemed to know how devious he was being was strangely alluring.

Lazily lending some of his attention to the silver tabby again, he listened just long enough to hear that the focus of this month's festival would be duets. What a boring invitation for lovey-dovey pageantry. . . Munkus must've been getting soft in his old age. Every Mated Jellicle would probably prepare some sappy ballad to impress their undying love upon everyone. The Tugger thought about asking Misto if he'd be willing to collaborate with him in something more up-tempo, just so the whole occasion wouldn't be a _complete _waste of time, but he got the impression that the tuxedo cat was preoccupied. With what was a mystery, but he didn't seem to be showing any inclinations of wanting to share the limelight. Oh well. The Rum Tum Tugger could get along fine on his own, always had.

He wouldn't have been looking forward to the full moon at all, on that note, if there hadn't been Jemima to consider. The Maine Coon was extremely interested in seeing how she intended to celebrate her Queenhood. The last kitten to move up the ranks had opted for a painfully well-rehearsed ballet solo, and while the Tugger had nothing against the White Queen or her incredibly flexible legs, he could think of several _better _applications for her respective talents (not that Vicki would've probably considered any of them). Of course, nothing could overshadow the performance Bomba had treated them all to when he was a kitten. . . he was never going to forget _that_. She'd made the Matrons blush with the mere choreography, and Munkustrap had gotten so flustered by her provocation that he forgot his cue and cut her off early. It was hard to think of the now-Guardian as a gangly adolescent these days, but the Tugger wondered if he remembered that incident. . . It would explain _a lot_.

But, so long as Jemima crooned sweetly on about dew on sunflowers and other things that made no sense, he had conviction in her ability to impress him. Sopranos could get away with making all sorts of pretty nothings seem like evocative masterpieces. Some dancing couldn't _hurt_, though. . .

As Munkustrap continued his tirade and Jemima purred on at his side, the Tugger reveled in thought the stares they would get (and _were _getting. . .), and made an unconscious decision. There was a first time for everything.

And a second, and a third. . .

* * *

A significant number of hours later, the moon having chartered itself to peak altitude and down again, Munkustrap finally found himself a moment alone. When the care of an entire tribe weighs on your shoulders, it is a very rare commodity, and the silver tabby was making the most of it. Well, he supposed the average Jellicle wouldn't put sleep on their list of "Fun Things To Do After the Hour of Ten o' Clock", but being placed into a position of leadership tends to make you a bit backwards where entertainment preferences are concerned.

However, he hadn't gotten a chance to even close an eye when a timid rap was made on the door of the armoire. The very description of the rap gave him a good idea of who he could expect to find on the other side - and if his suspicions were correct, he would not mind postponing his nap for a while longer.

Just as he'd guessed, the caller was Demeter, gold patterning all a-shimmer in the moonlight. He gave her a warm smile and motioned her inside.

"Good evening," he said in a voice the same temperature as his smile, and brushed up against her. The black-gold Queen flinched, but he tried not to let it bother him - her shyness usually wore off after a while. "What did you think of the speech? I myself am of the opinion that I got a little carried away. . . I try not to prattle on, but sometimes it seems like I'll never run out of things to say." He chuckled.

"They don't think any less of you for it. . . It's who you are." Deme's answer was short and whispered, almost evasive. She remained silent afterwards, but the way her eyes flitted about and settled on everything but him gave the pause an air of pregnancy. Since she usually came to talk, her unwillingness to offer conversation was beginning to make him nervous. And her manner concerned him. . . In particular, her use of the word "they" in reference to the other Jellicles, something she had stopped doing for a while. He wanted to ask her point-blank what was troubling her, but her esteem of the situation seemed delicate enough already. He would give her time before making his move.

"Well, hopefully not," Munkustrap continued, making a valiant effort to be seamless. "It wouldn't do to lose my favor and have to hand over the post to Alonzo so soon."

Deme seemed keen on memorizing the wood grain of the armoire, but all small talk was not exhausted. Her behavior was more worrisome than usual, so he decided to risk a different tact. He felt helpless in not knowing what she needed of him, since he had been so plainly sought out, but at the same time, he didn't know if what he wanted to give her would be necessary. Still, especially in the case of Demeter, his hope was not soon abandoned.

"I appreciated the escort service you and Bombalurina provided for me this evening," he teased lightly. "It seemed to leave an interesting impression on some of the tribe members, which I assume is what you had in mind."

He had not meant for his words to be anything other than casual, but the instant they left his mouth, Demeter's face, which had been decidedly verging on a wide range of emotions since she had entered, made a choice - and that was anguish. He quickly began to prepare an apology, although he did not yet know what for, but she was quicker. All the silver tabby was able to squeeze out was a few un-cohesive stutters before he was tackled to the floor with an amount of force that stunned him, a sobbing Queen burying her face in his ruff.

At first, everything was so sudden that he wasn't sure which responsible course of action (and since he was _Munkustrap_, he knew several) was the best to settle upon, but in the end, just taking things as they were and going from there seemed best. Demeter had never, ever been so direct, or so unabashedly physical, and while her emotional openness was good news, it was more than apparent that this had only come about as a result of something unidentified and traumatizing. The thing was, he couldn't think of _what_. . .

On the other more selfish and entirely un-objective paw, there was a distraught, needy Queen pinning him to the floor of his den who was obviously in search of consolation. _That_ didn't happen often. Additionally, it was not just any Queen, but Demeter, whom he had felt compelled to protect since the moment he met her. Despite the less-than-perfect terms, the situation was not unaccommodating.

The crying did not subside for a few more minutes, and the mere sound of it made Munkus miserable. He stroked her back and head fur as it was common to do in these types of scenarios, and whispered an assortment of meaningless things in a reassuring tone. In time, the flood began to dam, and soon the entire outburst had devolved into a few rogue sniffles. Her fierce grip on him remained, though - it almost gave the impression that she was afraid he'd try to get up and leave her at any moment.

To dispel this apparent fear, he whispered, "I'm not going anywhere, Deme."

For the first time since her breakdown, the black-gold Queen met his gaze. Her eyes were still rimmed with tears, and the fur around them was wet and matted. But _his_ eyes were kind, and filled with strength and seriousness - and most importantly, they were only seeing her.

"Neither am I." Trembling but determined, she rolled off of him, only to plaster herself as closely to the silver tabby's side as she could. Her paws had a vice on his arm so tight that it was certain to sever, but he was too dazed to be bothered about the health of his limbs.

In moments, her body went still and he breathing became shallow, and she was asleep - all that crying must have spent her.

The only semi-intelligible thought in the Guardian's mind at that point was of how they were possibly going to be able to properly explain things to the Scarlet Queen in the morning. For some reason, he did not look forward to it, even if Demeter's last words did not allude to something more permanent than that night. There were so many more questions that he did not have answers for, and so many blanks left unfilled. . .

Except for the one next to him, which, for a few hours more, at least, was no longer empty. And, for the time being, it was more than enough.

* * *

**Okay, so that was epic. XD **

**And wow, am I ever fond of italics.**

**Writing Tugger reminds me of writing Han Solo, haha. I seriously had flashbacks from the time I worked on "More Than Money" while typing out his monologues. . . I have such a fondness for the ladies' men, yes. It's terrible.**

**And I'm sorry again for the massive amounts of angst I managed to stuff into this. I'm quite sure it's all believable, but uber angsty!Deme is going to be henceforth heavily closeted. I realize that 90 percent of all fic written about her is of the "woe, my life is so tragic!" variety, but I had to get this bit of characterization out of the way to make things work down the road.**

**I was happy to be able to properly introduce Tantie and Cassie this time around, too. Mysterious visions, OMG! Neither of them are very extensively featured in most of what I read, and I think they're interesting characters. Mungo and Rumple just keep randomly cropping up with loot, though. . . I've been desperately wanting to give them their own opening, but it never seems to work out.**

**Anyway, please tell me your thoughts, as always. (Especially about my Munkustrap. . . I feel tepid about him this time around. I fail at writing noble-intentioned characters. They're not neurosed and perverse enough for me.)**

**Next chapter will be shorter, I believe, if everything goes according to outline, and the Tugger does not cause anymore needless tangents. Until then. . . content yourself with this monstrous 15-paged excuse for a chapter!**


	6. One More Time, With Feeling

**Coming of Age**

**by Cooking Spray**

* * *

**Disclaimer: Highlight the phrase "fan fiction". Read carefully. Consult dictionary if necessary.**

**Back again. Upon average, in consideration of how lengthy these chapters are, I think I'm shooting for an update every three weeks, if everything goes according to plan. Due to some very angering home issues, I no longer have the internet on my computer, but I luckily have a flash drive and a hospitable neighbor (to whom I owe thanks for helping me work out some of this chapter!), so it shouldn't be too hindering for you all.**

**This time around, things are supremely fluffy. . . And there's some mild innuendo, though I doubt it's offensive. I suck at writing the stuff outright, but this has its fair share of overtly romantic moments (once again, unintentionally!). A lot of what will transpire are things I thought of when I first began writing this, and only now managed to fit in properly. There's quite a lot of plot development, though, for a nice change of pace. XD**

**And I realized I am a "scene" writer, in the sense that I tell the story in individual segments. It just feels natural to me to think in that progression, although it kind of reminds me of the techniques television writers use for individual episodes. Maybe that's what you should think of my chapters from now on. . . Hopefully there's some continuity between them.**

**Here's the part where I tell you to ignore me and just read.**

**P.S.: I don't do phonetics, but you can hear the Cockney in your head. Right? _Riiiight._**

* * *

**Chapter Six:**

**One More Time, With Feeling**

Getting a Mate had a way of making one feel lazy. The long nights, the late mornings. . . Of course, if you wanted to be overly analytical about it, most could say that once they had a den for two instead of one, they got _more_ exercise than ever before. Still, once you realized that a good majority of your time had come to be spent in some form of reclined reclusion, you suddenly _felt _your age. Kittens were always spryly up and ready at every possible moment, balking when nap time came around. Even asleep, a young mind often dreamed of the adventures that would await them once they next awoke.

If she was representative of anything, Victoria could honestly say that her subconscious romps had little to do with children's play games anymore. As enjoyable as the dreams she _did_ have were, the White Queen missed the other kind, just a little. It was much too early in her Queenhood to be lamenting over her lost innocence already, but all the talk about Jemima had put age in the forefront of her mind. You didn't truly notice the changes in yourself as you grew older unless you purposefully paused to consider them - she supposed life operated that way for a reason. If someone lived their days in regret of the past, how could they properly enjoy the present?

Victoria was doing a little of both at the moment, however. The sun had risen, and the its intruding rays had perturbed her into premature wakefulness. Just like anyone wrested from their sleep at an odd hour, she was having trouble closing her eyes again - and thus, she was forced to succumb to the odd musings that often strike you while everyone else is dreaming, simply because they don't fit in anywhere else.

On the other paw, a specific tortoise-coated Tom was still snugly curled around her, making it impossible for her to get _too_ wrapped up in her thoughts. Her present was still properly enjoyable, despite the recent avalanche of longing she'd experienced for more carefree times. One of the things she definitely didn't miss was having to sleep in the nursery - as secure as it had been, the eyes of Princesses never wanted to close when they were commanded by a Matron. _Drifting_ off to bed in honest content was quite the luxury.

Of course, Vicki, the pampered house cat, was no one to complain. . . She'd always had a cushy kitty-bed to go home to, should she have desired. Most of the time, however, she'd spent "nap time" with the Princesses, so as not to seem hoity-toity. Contrasting as their ages and natures were, the White Queen often felt a bit left out, but she had not regretted the times the infamous "trio" had let her in on their fun. She found a connection with Jemima, especially, and the remembrance of the late-night chats they used to share made her slightly wistful. Especially because of all the gossip floating around concerning her and the Tugger, and the conversation her brother had treated her to the night before last. . . Had it really been so long since she and Jemi had sat down with each other and had a heart-to-heart? She felt ashamed of herself, and at once made a resolution to right this as soon as possible. Last night was too full of distractions, and she suspected that Jemima wouldn't have appreciated having to discuss her love life while it was sitting next to her.

Speaking of which, her own love life had just shifted in his sleep, his face now burrowing into her shoulder and body flush against her back. Plato was a very possessive sleeper, and was prone to treating his Mate like a cherished stuffed toy while they dozed. His touchy-feely nature coupled with her shyness made them an odd pair, but Victoria had to admire his easygoing confidence. It was the same trait he had used to charm her at the Ball last year, and she had been so flattered by his unlikely attraction that she couldn't help but return it. Their courtship was a little predictable, as far as love stories went, and no one, including herself, had expected it to last long. . . And then Plato had surprised everyone by asking her to be his official Mate. It had only been a month, but what did she have to lose by accepting? Her tortoise-coated Tom was laid-back and openly affectionate, and even a little unpredictable at times, and she could easily see herself leading a happy and simple life with him. Ever since her acceptance of the proposal, they both had fallen into the routine of matrimony faultlessly, and the White Queen found herself as content as she had predicted. Maybe her romance wasn't the exciting sort from which exaggerative yarns and Queenly gossip was spawned, but it suited her just fine. Besides, everyone else in the Junkyard had enough scandal surrounding their own relationships to more than make up for her lack thereof. No matter what the popular speculation was, Victoria was just as humble as her brother. Dancing was the only passion she allowed to define her.

Another wave of nostalgia for her kitten days assuaged her at that thought. Vicki, the little ballerina. . . She had fond memories of pirouetting in the moonlight with Misto, so young that her steps were still clumsy. He had been a perfectionist even then, and always corrected her foibles as well as his own. Sometimes, like the children they were then, they had bickered and fought over his criticisms and had to be separated by the Matrons. Without her brother's harshness, though, she probably never would've reached the caliber she occupied today. Their pas de deux was still the centerpiece of the last Ball for her, and she had never been able to duplicate the feeling she had gotten from performing it. It was the culmination of all those missteps and quarrels as kittens. . .

In relation, she thought of an idea that was growing on her, and had been for a while. It was such an utterly female, universal idea that she had refrained from voicing it at first, but whenever her mind drifted, it kept coming up, unwilling to be ignored. And this morning, it was also springing itself upon her, its appeal even stronger due to all of her recollecting. She was nervous about the prospect, but her eagerness almost outweighed her apprehension. All at once, she was struck, and suddenly certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that her "thought" should become a reality.

Her conviction was so strong that she was unable to keep it to herself, and she nudged her Mate awake. He grunted and lazily blinked open his eyes, rubbing them with a paw to erase the sleep. Victoria was gazing at him in a radiantly embryonic way, eyes wide and glittering.

"What's the matter, Vicki? Have a nice dream you'd like to share with me?" He yawned. "Unless you mean that literally, I hope whatever it is can wait until dusk. . . I adore you, but I'm beat."

The White Queen shook her head with more force than she had intended, and then looked back up at him, a touch reticent. "Plato. . . what would you think about starting a family?" Then she absurdly added, "With me?", as if there were an other Queens with whom he would consider applying the suggestion to. Her heart pounded in anticipation of his answer.

Plato blanched at first, completely unprepared for the question's magnitude, especially so early. By the time he'd re-gathered his bearings, however, a slow-spreading grin was tracing its way across his face. "Hm. . . a bunch of little hellions just as beautiful as the two of us running around and getting into trouble? Sounds great to me."

"You mean that?" she whispered, knowing the dialogue was overplayed but having to make sure. Plato's warm reception had already manifested itself in her glowing features.

"If you're up to the challenge, then so am I." He gave her a head-rub to assure her. "We're soon to have a shortage of kittens around here, anyhow, and it'd be a shame to leave Jenny and Jelly to sit on their paws."

Her Mate was taking this in stride, but overly casual or not, she knew he would a good father - she wouldn't be with him otherwise. As her brother had once told her, she was maternal enough to make up for their own lack of parentage. Although she wasn't as great of a disciplinarian as the Matrons, she was genuinely caring and concerned towards those who mattered. Motherhood was certainly a big progression from the life she was used to, but it was not a stretch of character.

"I love you." In this moment, she meant it more truly than any time she had said it before, no matter what might (and quite possibly would, she was not so naive not to think) change in the future.

"Back at you." He tilted her chin up and kissed her, and the two then snuggled with silent content for a few moments before Plato made the second proposition of the morning. "Feel like getting a head start on that family?"

The moon would not rise for a good while yet, after all, and there's never a better time than the present to get things accomplished.

The White Queen's cheeks pinked, which he took for a yes - and it was safe to say that, in the hours that followed, _nostalgia _of any kind was no longer an issue.

* * *

Demeter wasn't tired. 

She was, in fact, the polar opposite of tired; which was to say very rested, indeed. It was bewildering just how effectual her change in sleeping arrangements had been in curing her insomnia - and, at the same time, it was hardly a surprise, on some level.

Through rheumy, sleep-hazed eyes, she let her surroundings settle in. She had promised herself that no matter _how _embarrassing her behavior had been the previous night, her resolve would stay unflappable. With this in the forefront of the black-gold Queen's mind, she disallowed her insecurities to get the best of her, something that was always a loathsome struggle.

She could tell that it was mid-morning - the sunlight that had forced its way through the armoire's crevices was quite vocal about this fact. The Yard was still yet, as most Jellicles were predisposed to stay cooped in their dens at such an offensive hour. . . And so was the body of the silver tabby next to her, breathing in an even rhythm only achieved during sleep.

Demeter's own breath caught for a moment, heart trilling wildly in accompaniment, and her body, in general, performed a number of cliche gestures that also included an obligatory somersault of the stomach. This was the part that she could not prepare herself for - she was always very skillful in her initiations; it was the aftermath that she dealt with considerably less grace. Gut instinct told her that her feelings were danger - but "danger", as she had learned to interpret, meant "Macavity" - and this Tom bore very little resemblance to him, in any aspect. Not _all _handsomeness could harm her.

Besides, when had Macavity ever been so affectionate as to allow her to share sleeping quarters with him? The answer was "never", and so she relaxed - well, as best as she _could_, anyhow, seeing how close Munkustrap held her to him.

Though any contingent process of thought seemed a bit much to hope for, in light of her current accommodations, Deme tried for one anyway. It was always the Queen who awoke first in this kind of situation - it must've been some sort of unwritten rule, universally inputted into the sleep cycles of males everywhere. It accorded a female some time to think upon whatever chain events had led up to the position in which she then found herself, pleasant or unpleasant. Demeter was a bit out of practice at this sort of scheduled introspection, but she thought she might as well give it another try. She _did _have a lot to consider.

What had possessed her to so brazenly fling herself at the Guardian last night was indeterminable to her, now that she was in a clearer state of mind - a long time ago (and she _had _to stop referring to it that way), those fits of passion had made her famous, but they'd been in submission ever since the Asylum. _That _kind of desperation wasn't the variety that had usually overtaken her, way back when, but her cheek did make her smile a little. It had been a long time since the black-gold Queen had taken a risk for anything, let alone a Tom. It'd taken more of a push than normal, but it still felt nice, in more ways than one.

On second thought, maybe she _did _have an inkling of what had possessed her, although the thought of it made her feel slightly guilty, of all things. If her emotions hadn't overtaken her (which wasn't in Demeter's original plan at all), she might've made it back to the Scarlet Queen to tell her. . . Well, to tell her what? It then dawned upon her that although her new residence presented a lot of connotations, it was not technically her _residence _just yet, and the connotations were just that. Her breakdown had only helped her to accomplish half her goal. Upon realization of this, Demeter's fretting kicked back in. She thought she'd _learned_ about not jumping to conclusions, but love was making her come undone all over again. _In the end, I haven't changed a bit. . . _

Before the black-gold Queen could work herself into too much of a lather, however, her bed mate gave forth a warning stretch and started to roll onto his side. . . Only to find that such a movement was hard to complete when another body was affixed to said portion of your anatomy. Once fur was encountered instead of hard floor, two eyes opened - Munkustrap had awakened.

Demeter tried to say something ("good morning" would've sufficed), but her tongue was at odds with her intentions. After last night, it would've been the perfect time to show that she wasn't such a pathetic excuse for a Queen, but the silver tabby seemed to bring out the femme fatale in her.

The Guardian's memory served him well, even this early in the day, and seeing how the last image he had of Deme was of her blubbering atop his chest, his first expression had nothing to do with pleasantries or the weather. With a tentative paw reaching out for her cheek, his eyes went straight for the "how are you?" faster than his mouth.

She wanted to say "fine", but that wasn't exactly true. . . And the concern in Munkus' face was so blatant and so expressly for _her _that she was tempted to voice her answer in another round of clinging (even though such a question hadn't even technically been asked). She wondered if being around him wasn't making her regress completely, as he had managed in a few short hours to retard both her composure and her speaking capabilities. Honestly, was she still a kit?

Demeter's strangled silence finally prompted him to speak in her stead, though. Rather than going the direct route, the silver tabby detoured to give his guest a chance to warm up, as it seemed she was having trouble doing.

"I hadn't intended to take more than a nap, you know. . . But I'm glad you persuaded me differently." He sat up, and Deme along with him, giving her a good-humored nudge in the process.

"I'm sorry" rose to her lips, but didn't escape them - because, truthfully, she was only the tiniest bit remorseful for what she had done (at least to _him_). That, and she desperately wanted some of what had compelled her last night to shine through again, only in a different way. _That_ Demeter wasn't so easily destructible, so paper-thin

_"_I could make a habit of it, if you like," she replied with shy deliberation, forcing her eyes to focus on her audience. To her secret delight, the remark gained just the response she had hoped for.

"I would like that very much, indeed." Munkustrap's intonation was soft and inescapably meaningful - Demeter tried to turn away at the concentration of it, but was apprehended by a paw on her upper arm.

The Guardian regarded her affectionately but seriously, a combination only he could pull off. "However. . . I can't help but question what this means, exactly."

An apology was necessary on behalf of his confusion. "I'm sorry. I admit to being. . . out of practice at this, if you will." She dared to meet his eyes again, half-smiling at her own sarcasm. "I don't mean to be confusing. It just happens that way."

"Demeter, you were forgiven before you ever knocked on the door." The thing about Munkus' princely talk was that, although it would've been veritably laughable coming from anyone's mouth but his own, he had a way of making it seem so sincere that you _believed _it - and instead of having a chuckle, you would blush.

Doing just that, the black-gold Queen pressed on before she lost her nerve. "Anyway, what I meant last night was. . ." She stalled, and then broke off, fumbling for the appropriate phrasing. Munkustrap gently encouraged her with the same heartbreakingly unfathomable _patience_. Demeter then made up her mind to dispense with the words (they wouldn't obey her, anyway), and convey what she wanted in a way that wouldn't betray her meaning.

She let the impulse take hold of her, and acted upon it before her second thoughts could catch up. In a moment, Demeter was decisive, and she seized it - which is all a very poetically vague way of saying "she kissed Munkustrap with all the passion she had in her".

It was properly dramatic, if a bit sudden, but the Guardian's reflexes were none too shabby, and he returned the gesture somewhat instantaneously. She hadn't forgotten how to do this, surprisingly, and if the lost time had made her inexperienced, Munkus helped her find her way. It occurred to her that she was _feeling _something, and that it wasn't panic. What was more was the fact that she knew - not just by touch, but something else stereotypically exhilarating and indescribable - that he was, as well. She forgot to be embarrassed and drowned herself in the sensation, which was so very different than anything she had ever encountered, even though _everyone _is tempted to say that. Putting a name to it yet would tarnish it, but at the inexorable breakaway, she was smiling, as sure as she had all morning.

With the shortness of breath that only succeeds a good kiss, Demeter began, "That, and. . ."

"There's _more_?"

She laughed - it was a muted laugh, but one filled with beauty and music, as rare laughs tend to be (especially so if you are in love with the Queen producing them). "That, and a declaration: I'm staying with you. For. . . much longer than a night."

There followed much celebratory nuzzling of a most intimate sort. Munkustrap had yet to discover who or what could be thanked for his good fortune (and it was safe to say that he would be in a less celebratory mood when he did), but the thought that maybe it was, perhaps, those years of _patient _biding was buoying. For the most part, he couldn't be seriously bothered - being himself, he was honestly happy that Demeter had, at last, given in to the feelings he'd only suspected she had and allowed him to love her aloud. Specifics were unimportant at the moment. With Demeter, you always took what you could get, when she let you.

Right now, that was all of her, with room in his heart to spare.

The Guardian didn't know why yet, but he'd be glad for that extra space when the time came.

* * *

Time passed, as it always does, unless you were going by the Tugger's clock face, that was (no hidden meanings intended). The temperature had dropped quite rapidly in the transition from day to night, however, and the Yard wasn't exactly teeming with life as a result. A film of obnoxious cloud cover had scattered the moon's light, so it was not an opportune time to partake in any traditional Jellicle activities. The only tribe members who couldn't be swayed were, unsurprisingly, the kittens. Despite how the Matrons had grumbled that it was "only sensible" to stay shut in during such unforgiving weather, their juvenile charges would hear none of it. 

The young Toms had somehow rounded the Princesses over to the tire, where Admetus was delighting them with a selection of what he called "spooky stories". Etcetera was the first to point out that the season wasn't very appropriate, but Pouncival then started accompanying the tales with improv and sound effects, and both she and Electra were soon shrieking with alternating delight and horror.

Jemima, for her part, just felt uncomfortable. She and Tumble, who didn't share his friends' crowd-pleasing gift, had been awkwardly stuck next to each other in what Electra seemed to think was a grandly charitable gesture. It was obvious that the Princess the spotted Tom would've much preferred to sit by was Electra herself, though - every time she laughed, he kept staring at her with such obvious longing that Jemima felt sorry for him. Addy was stealing his show, as always. The problem wasn't that she didn't find his and Pounce's antics funny; she just wasn't in the mood for them on this particular night. Every once in a while, Admetus would try to specifically include her, but for the most part, it was very apparent that the whole act was designed to gain the attentions of her other two friends.

Pounce had just finished his impression of a ghostly Pollicle apparition that the other half of his comedy team claimed had tried to chase him through an alleyway one night when the rust-black Princess decided to stand and take her leave. She didn't want to imply that she was above their fun, as she had been skipping out on things a lot lately, but the feeling of exclusion was getting to her.

"Excuse me. I. . . I have some things to prepare for next moon." She smiled apologetically. It wasn't a complete lie, at least. "I really did enjoy the stories, though."

Admetus halted mid-syllable, agog. "You're _leaving_? Aw, c'mon, Jem! This is the best part! Don't be a party pooper."

Etcy and Electra also turned to her with similarly imploring expressions. "Are you sure, Jemi?" the white tabby Princess queried with some concern. "We can all do something different if you're bored. . . Don't feel like you have to leave!" Her words were well-intentioned enough, but her disappointment at the suggestion still shone through.

Jemima shook her head firmly. "No, no, it's fine. Don't make exceptions for me."

A look of understanding somehow reached her in Pounce's eyes across the tire, which was a bit of a surprise. "Hey, Jemi's a big girl; she'll be fine out on her own." He regarded her directly, and she was grateful for the unusually sensitive intervention - it must've been influenced by the conversation they'd had last night. "Do what you need to, but don't whine about missing all of the fun in the morning!"

Jemima removed herself from their company, freeing the spot next to the toffee Princess, to Tumble's great elation, and waved a requisite goodbye that was mirrored with some (but not _too _much) regret by the rest of the trio. As soon as they found a moment alone, suspicions were sure to fly, but she wouldn't be there to hear them, at least. Before she was even out of earshot, Admetus' voice had picked up from where he'd left off, again, and faint giggles sounded shortly thereafter.

A deserted area around the back of the oven beckoned to her. At first, she just sat, guiltily relieved to be away from her nursery mates' cajolery. Jemima really wasn't in the mood for the usual tiring introspection either, though. She'd been doing too much thinking recently, and it never seemed to have a positive effect on her mood. She had this time alone, and she wasn't going to waste it on her own self-indulgent angst.

Empowered, she got up, and for lack of any other immediately involving thing to do, began to dance. The practice would be good for the pressuring solo that she had to look forward to next moon, anyhow. She hadn't put much thought into any sort of routine yet, and honestly wasn't too keen on forming one. Dancing when the mood struck her had always been preferable to her sensibilities - the movements were more natural, more expressive.

This number began slowly, with a few methodical, teasing steps as the rust-black Princess warmed up, opening herself to inspiration. She performed a number of graceful stretches upon the cobbles, and then leapt into a set of a more sprightly and hopeful description, incorporating arches and leaps. The elementary sensation of _moving_ invigorated her, and a few embellishing pirouettes wove themselves into the choreography, along with other ballet selections that she had picked up along the way. By that time, she was no longer consciously thinking about her motions, and instead was allowing the dance to dance itself, caught up in the rhythm of it.

When she at last bent into a final bow, arm outstretched and legs perfectly split, she was startled to hear the sound of applause. Embarrassed, she jerked her head to the clapping's source, already beginning to get up and dust herself off.

Her unaccounted audience turned out only to include the White Queen, who had been admiring the progress of her dance from a few steps away. The knowledge that such an examination had taken place without her notice make Jemima's ears droop - everyone knew that Victoria was the tribe's terpsichorean authority. Her impromptu recital must've seemed unbearably amateurish in comparison. After all, half of the ballet she had picked up from Vicki herself.

Despite Jemima's fretting, Victoria seemed to show nothing but legitimate encouragement. The developments from that morning still had an addling effect on her mood. "Sorry if I surprised you, but I didn't want to interrupt your dance."

"It's alright." Jemima's shyness lingered, and suddenly, the exchange felt stilted and unnecessarily formal. A year earlier, neither of them would've felt obligated to explain themselves - but, as she was learning, age has a way of creating all sorts of changes in a cat.

"I had hoped to find you," the White Queen said with a sheepish smile. "I'm guessing you've gotten scouted out a lot these days, though, so I feel a little ashamed of myself."

Her comment evoked a sigh, but also some relief - at least they both felt equally inadequate. "Your guess is right, but I've gotten used to the interrogations - and surely you've heard the gossip. It'd be a bit difficult not to."

Jemima's resignation intrigued her. Victoria vacillated between honoring the Princess' sensitivity and indulging her own curiosity, as the subject was clearly wearying. In the end, she decided to gently press further. She did want a true understanding of the situation, because she thought she might be able to offer better advice than what she suspected Jemima had been fed already - and, above all, their friendship was long overdue for renewal. She just feared that the gap might've grown too wide, and that the distance between them might make her un-relatable.

"If I may be so forward to ask, what exactly _is _the truth behind all that? You don't have to answer, but. . . from my own perspective, I'd like to know." The same guilt overtook her. "I suppose this is a shoddy way to get back in touch. Forgive me."

"No, actually, I'm glad to get the chance to talk to someone like this. . . Especially you." Jemima spoke with a smile and sincerity. "Pounce tried to give me a pep talk yesterday, and it _did _make me feel better, but not because it was really reassuring in any way. Now that everything's out in the open, there's no use in hiding it."

Vicki giggled into her paw. "They haven't changed a bit, have they? I'm probably still more like them than I'd prefer to admit, though. I may've been the oldest, but I still believe you were, and remain, the most mature. Except for when the Tugger was involved, perhaps, but he made us all act terribly silly."

"And continues to, in some cases," Jemima said, with a smile that was now begrudging. "This is where I think those remarks about my maturity cease to be true."

Victoria studied her friend for a moment, and then took a seat on a cooperative mess of cans, motioning for the rust-black Princess to join her. When Jemima complied, looking expectant, the White Queen posed her question.

"I know enough to be aware that you've started thinking of your feelings for him seriously, but have you ever thought of why? What is it about the Tugger that attracts you, specifically?" Victoria grinned a bit at her own phrasing. "Well, besides the obvious fact that he is simply _attractive_."

The grin proved to be contagious (it felt better to blame it on that rather than the subject matter). "I guess it never really occurred to me to approach it that way. . ." Crushes were much more harmless when they were left at that and not defined. Besides, what was the use of thinking of better, more specific reasons to become attached? The whole situation was hopeless. The only resolution Jemima had come upon was that she was some sort of masochist - Gus had used that word once, and she thought it fit perfectly here, too.

"I'm probably too young to give pep talks as well, but whether or not it makes any difference, I don't think you're hopeless. I think you like him for a reason, and maybe I'm making assumptions, but I think that reason just might be that you're good for one another. You should give it some thought. Plato and I saw the two of you last night, and we both agreed." Victoria was unused to dispensing wisdoms, especially with such conviction, and felt suddenly sensitive about how Jemima would receive her theory. The mention of her Mate in conjunction with herself still had the effect of making her beam like a newlywed, though.

"Pounce compared me to you last night," Jemima admitted, contemplative. "He said I acted like you did when you were dancing around Plato before the Ball. I was unsure of what to make of it, because I think he was just trying to make me feel better."

Vicki smiled again. Perhaps she wasn't as bad at handing out advice as she thought. "Maybe that's the closest way he knows how to describe love. I didn't know I had a certain look, though. . . But then again, most of us are probably so enamored that we don't notice."

Jemima cast her eyes downward, trying not to let the proposition appeal to her. "Do you think I have that look, even so?"

"I do," the White Queen said matter-of-factly, completely sure about this one. "It's not like you walk around wearing it, but it's apparent in your face when you're around him, or if someone mentions him. Like now. You shouldn't feel bad about it, as it's not like it's something that can be helped."

"And you said _I _was the mature one. . ." Jemima's expression was wry.

"You are. I just have a year's worth of experience over you. After all, you probably have stopped to consider the consequences or your feelings more than I did. What I did at the Ball was impulsive, but it luckily turned out to be fortunate. I was a shy Queen who took a risk." It felt bizarre to hold any sort of clout over someone, especially Jemima, but not unpleasant. She fancied she had a brief moment of understanding with Munkustrap.

"I just. . . don't know how this happened, exactly." She called upon a tired metaphor to illustrate. "I woke up one day, and Etcy and Electra's fawning seemed innocent, while I suddenly began to _care_. It was irrational, and I knew it, and also horrible, because it was the Tugger. I don't think he can love anyone but himself for longer than a week."

The visit she had paid to Mistoffelees jumped to the forefront of Victoria's mind. "You might be surprised. . . I actually think Tugger is less narcissistic than you say he is, if my opinion counts for anything. He was asking my brother about you a couple of nights ago, you know. It seems as if he might actually make an attempt to approach this the right way."

"There's a right way?" Jemima still couldn't prevent the spark that comment had ignited in the pit of her stomach, though, causing a warm feeling to spread through her against her will. "And he's. . . going to _approach _me? Like I'm some sort of game?"

The White Queen laughed. "Give him a break. Not that he _needs _one, but he's the Tugger - what do you think he would've said? The fact that he even asked my brother for advice stands for something, though. For him, that's a step in the right direction - and yes, there is one."

Jemima deliberated. She was young, and very much aware of it - only four years, by Human calendars. What the Princess lacked in experience and knowledge, however, she made up for intrapersonal sensitivity. "Love" was something she was supposed to find, and define for herself along the way. It had not even entered her mind in any exactitude when she had taken the time to stop and consider her future. Certainly, she expected herself to eventually fall into it, as it was one of life's inevitabilities - but unlike Etcy and Electra, she hadn't courted any specific notions about whom the cat she would share it with might be, or even what they might be like. She just assumed that when it happened, it would. There was a time and place for everything, and as she had grown older, she had developed a considerable dexterity at distinguishing between the two.

But, to use a tired but true description, love really does hit you like a car out of nowhere. It had little consideration for anything or anyone, destroying all order and ignoring all previous engagements with a recklessness that could only be labeled "bittersweet". As they said, love was blind (or _blindfolded_), and while it might not have been the greatly dramatic, sweeping force that it was often referred to as, Jemima had been around long enough to testify that attraction or emotional attachment always created some kind of havoc, hers being no exception.

Until just now, she had been so caught up in the seeming incredibility of her endearment that she hadn't put much thought into why it existed in the first place. She tried to think of reasons, or pinpoint a moment. If truth be told, she was probably the least faithful of Tugger's posse - while she had giddily enjoyed his coercion during last year's Ball, she clung to him far less than Etcy or Electra, opting to admire from afar. When emotions were concerned, Jemima was always reserved with hers, distinctly aware that baring too much could make for unpleasant going. The Tugger was appealing to the eyes as well as the sensibilities of most Queens, and he was a talented performer besides. There wasn't any reason why she _shouldn't _like him, but this was all established fact. In her time, she had known other handsome Toms, showy Toms, smooth-talking Toms - and while these traits could all easily be found elsewhere, maybe even in the same configuration, they didn't particularly interest her. Unless, of course, they embodied the Tugger himself, who somehow managed to defy all of which she had defined as reasonable. For whatever reasons, she just_ liked_ him, and couldn't help wanting to be near the source of her affections, even if she did not always follow this yearning through. Luckily, the Tugger was forthright enough for the both of them, though.

Much as it seemed prudent to try and bury her feelings for her own good, she found that she simply couldn't (especially not with his constant providence of reasons to hang on). And furthermore, she didn't really want to.

Victoria was smiling at her silence, amused by the various emotions that flickered across the Princess' face. To deliberate over something so elementary (yet, at the same time, complex) and illogical as love was purely Jemima. The White Queen placed a paw on her shoulder, drawing her out of her thoughts. The resemblance to her brother entertained her.

"If you really like him, you should let yourself go for him, too, even if he is the Tugger. I wouldn't say so if I didn't think you had a chance. You've got your wits about you, and always had. I think you can take him." She nodded with confidence. "Forget you know anything about how insane of a notion the whole thing is. Love isn't sane itself, anyhow."

From Victoria's lips, the advice reached her with undeniable clarity. Perhaps it was just because she was more willing to want to believe it now, more than ever, because the White Queen's version of the truth was much more desirable than her own. But, everything that had been said made sense, and Jemima trusted that her friend knew what she was talking about. She had been able to pin down Plato, after all.

"I'll try." She smiled softly but decisively, and Vicki joined her.

A few seconds later, the first faint words of a song began to be crooned in tenor across the Yard, a baritone harmonizing exaggeratedly with its owner in a sad parody of a love song. Jemima and Victoria looked at each other, and began to giggle, knowing very well just who the singers' identities were. As the tune wore on, annoyed mezzo tones occasionally interweaving themselves, the White Queen hoisted herself up and began to sway ridiculously in time. Leave it to the young Toms to provide comic relief!

Jemima, now laughing outright, joined her, and together the two of them continued their silly dance, twisting and bouncing energetically like a couple of flower children at a rock 'n' roll concert. When Pounce began to also mime the orchestral bridge, voice straining to imitate a violin, the both of them were clutching each other with mirth so intense that their dance was forgotten.

The Tugger wasn't the only one who could bring out the kitten in her.

* * *

The last time Demeter had been this happy, she had barely been out of kittenhood - and that happiness had been so hollow and short-lived, in comparison. _This _happiness, she was confident, would be one that would last for much longer than a moon. Munkustrap was a Tom of his word, and he had honored her with his protection and untiring concern even without recompense for so long already. Her old, reflexive fear of abandonment still lingered, but it was hard to take it seriously when she had spent nearly the entire day in the silver tabby's arms, both of them clutching each other with the blissful relief that their mutual feelings for one another no longer had to be denied. It was the kind of sap that she had once looked on with distaste, back in the days when she was young enough to have fanciful ideas of romance. But, in the end, you don't really get to choose your so-called "happy ending" - oftentimes, it finds you instead, whether it's what you think you need or not. 

This was why the black-gold Queen was swooning and grinning from ear-to-ear instead of crinkling her nose, as her former self would've. The initial euphoria of finding the cat you most want to share your life with, and discovering they feel the same way, is all-encompassing, replacing all worries with a nirvana that, although seemingly unending, is really only temporary. Demeter didn't care, though - she was _in _love, and loved in return, and little else mattered at the moment. Later, she could reflect back on her careless, emotion-blinded silliness, but for now she was going to enjoy the honeymoon phase while it lasted. She had waited around so long to finally confess, afraid of rejection - but now that she finally had, and was aware of the most pleasant consequences, she had to admonish herself for her dawdling. If this is how it would've been all along, had she only said something sooner. . .

The only reason why Demeter was not in the Guardian's company at that very moment, standing beside him for the whole tribe to see, was because he had watch duty. Neither of them had wanted him to leave, but once again, Munkustrap was a Tom of his word - although wasting the night away just as they had the morning, nestled into the armoire together, was definitely preferable to spending it out in the cold, he would not desert his sense of duty. And Deme would only distract him from keeping his post had she accompanied him, so there she was, alone again. Even without his presence, though, she felt better than she had in weeks - and Munkus _had _left her with a goodbye that would more than make up for his absence.

It hadn't occurred to her before now, her mind having been explicably centered on other things, but she was hungry. With a spring in her step, the black-gold Queen set off to raid the dustbins. If her nosing didn't turn up any morsel of decent edibility, which was very likely at this hour, she'd have to settle for a mouse - however, nourishment was the least of her concerns at the moment. Her menu may not have been exactly gourmet, but who cared? She was in love!

On her way toward the break in the fence that allowed Jellicles to slip out of and into the alleyway, though, Demeter caught wind of a curious sound. She pricked her ears, and found that as she drew closer to her destination, the sound intensified. This was also curious - the black-gold Queen was removed from the Yard's apex, and it was unusual for a Jellicle to lurk around the outskirts by choice (unless they were the Dark Twins, and then there were no questions). The "sound" had the melodic quality of a voice, though, and a male one, at that. Its familiarity irritated her.

Intrigued, and food forgotten for the moment, Demeter stealthily followed the direction of the singing. While scaling a junk heap, it grew in volume. . . and then, at almost the same time as she recognized the voice, she came upon the cat commanding it. In any other event, upon unearthing that last fact, she would've continued her meal foraging with immediate disinterest, but something about this clandestine performance was eerily enchanting.

Sitting on a fossil of a washing machine was the Rum Tum Tugger, deeply concentrated on serenading the waxing gibbous moon. It was much rounder than any of the Queens the Maine Coon usually tried to charm, Demeter noted, but then again, it was also less protesting to his advances. They were a perfect pair.

All joking aside, though, it had to be admitted that the Tugger, when he put his mind to it, had quite the set of pipes. His obnoxious over-enunciations, as well as the usual pomp, were not made use of in this ballad - it was sung straightly and honestly, with little apparent effort. It was a little enervating to one's self-esteem, really. The Curious Cat could've had a voice like a rusty hinge and still live a comfortable life, after all.

More off-putting than the singing of the ballad was the selection itself. Since when did the Tugger do love songs? This wasn't a melody that she had ever heard, so she assumed he had picked it up somewhere, or (though it was unfathomable) the piece was of his own creation. The lyrics were strange and hardly sensible, so it was also hard to believe that he really understood just what it was he was saying. This couldn't be practice for the duets, either, as he was clearly unaccompanied.

Demeter's stomach rumbled, but she staid put, frowning more with the recitation of each line. Somehow, she got the feeling that a certain Princess had a surprise in store for her. . .

In her distaste, the black-gold Queen's foot accidentally nudged a tire rim. Wincing, she anticipated the clatter that her gesture had caused as the strategically stacked portion of the pile avalanched. The Tugger's singing ceased, and she knew she had been caught, even though she hadn't intended to spy in the first place. The damned Curious Pollicle probably caused trouble in his sleep, she suspected - and leave it to him to put a damper on her happiness. Ironically, it was her own curiosity that had gotten her in this situation.

She could see his smirk, even if she couldn't see his face. "Okay, hide and seek's over. . . come out, come out wherever you are. . ."

Glaring deeply, Demeter stalked out from her "hiding place", refusing to play along with the Tugger's game. His eyebrows actually rose a bit, indicating mild surprise - he had probably expected one of the Princesses, or even the Scarlet Queen. Instead, his eavesdropper had turned out to be the least likely of all, whose disapproval of him was not unknown.

"Before you go forming ideas, let it be known that I was just on my way to find food - something I do not assume you would be able to relate to." Demeter was quick to present a defense, and did not bother to conceal the acid in her tone. The Tugger still represented the worst sort of advantageous Tom to her, and she hadn't yet seen substantial proof to sway her otherwise. The latest rumors of his interest in Jemima only furthered this dislike. To think that he would dare to stoop as low as leading on a kitten. . . Obviously, he upheld no morals. Once again, in another time, they might've gotten along quite well - but this was now, and after what had been revealed to her, she couldn't bear to condone his behavior.

Tugger held up his paws as a signal of submission, somewhat taken aback by her harshness. Really, did he not _get _it by now? Or did he just not care one way or the other? "Hey, take it easy. . . _I'm _not the criminal here."

Demeter's nostrils flared, along with her annoyance threshold. "Nor am I, as I told you. Don't imply otherwise."

In the face of her temper, the Maine Coon was becoming confused. "Look, Deme, I don't want to fight. . . But, y'know, I'm not _that _stupid. You were hiding behind that junk pile the whole time." He pointed, but her eyes did not follow, content to pin him with their seething. "I caught the scent you as soon as you approached, but I didn't call out or anything, because I figured you were enjoying the concert."

"Unlike most females around here, I'm not exactly enraptured by the Tugger package. Don't flatter yourself." The back-gold Queen's rebuttal was just as vehement as the previous two, and she was undeterred by Tugger's previous statement.

Tugger started to look the slightest bit offended. "Well, even so, there had to be _some _reason why you were sitting there through all those verses. And don't tell me that rot about being 'on your way' to get food, either."

Demeter fell silent, although the unfriendliness did not leave her expression. The truth was, she was not at all prepared to give the Tugger the satisfaction of the actual reason for her spying. To tell him that she had followed his voice like a siren call would only please him further..

"I have an Intended," she said with a staunch glower, as if this defense excused her actions and his questioning of them.

This was actually news to the Tugger. Being the Curious Cat, his interest was spiked in spite of himself. "You don't say? I guess Munkus finally got around to proposing, then. . . sure took long enough."

Deme's tail twitched, and her ears flattened. "_I _was the one who proposed, thank you. Contrary to what you might think, Queens can do some things for themselves."

"Well, however it happened, congrats. . . I'm real happy for the both of you," Tugger replied sarcastically, growing tiresome of the black-gold Queen's consistent scathing. "Still doesn't answer my question, though."

"I am under no obligation to give any reply to your questions. You are not my Mate or my brother, and I therefore owe you no loyalty." She was regretting ever having let anything distract her from her hunger. "As such, I do not need your excuse to proceed in removing myself from your company. Goodbye."

With that terse exit line, Demeter made to turn away, but in an eye blink, the Tugger was in front of her, blocking her path. She hissed and advanced forward, but he remained just as stubborn, and did not budge.

"I don't know what I ever did to you to make you hate me so much, Deme, but my guess is, seeing that I've never actually done anything to you, that you just don't like the kind of cat I am. That's fine, okay? But, let me tell you one thing - _we _are both in this tribe _together_. So, whatever way you feel about me, go on feeling it - just don't forget that you _do _owe me at least that much respect." The Tugger's quiet anger was actually a bit frightening, but Demeter could still not get over her disgust with his antics. She knew his type well. . . Toms like him were the reason why so many Queens lost their self-worth and became brokenhearted. And still, he had the nerve to lecture _her_!

Demeter sniffed, and turned her head. "I do not understand why Munkustrap tolerates you. It is obvious that you have no regard for anyone but yourself. . . Where were _you _last Ball when Macavity showed up? Where were you when anyone _really _needed you? You're an _avoider_," she spat. "A self-serving, arrogant avoider. . . _you _are one of the ones who would've left me in the Asylum to rot. This tribe doesn't need someone like you."

"Thanks for the opinion, but I don't think you're the one who gets to make that decision," her "captor" replied snidely. "And you know, maybe you're right, and I am as bad as you say. I'd love to make peace anyway, but you've made it pretty clear that's not going to happen anytime soon, unless I get a complete personality correction. But, what I don't understand is why someone who claims to hate me so much decides to sit and listen to me sing for such a long time. Give me a reason, any reason, just as long as it's better than the last one. Then, you can go, and I'll never force you to talk to me again. Sound good?"

The black-gold Queen did not speak, either out of defiance for the request or reluctance to admit that the Tugger had a point. His demeanor didn't waver, though, and she finally gave in and muttered a reply. "It surprised me to hear you using your vocal chords for something of a more poignant nature, is all. Call it shock, if you will. You can't blame me."

Tugger mimicked her silence for a few moments, and then his posture relaxed, a fresh smirk taking up residence on his face. "I should be insulted. . . but, enemy or not, I gotta love your honesty. There aren't too many Queens who aren't afraid to use it, y'know."

Deme started to attack the gender generalization, and then decided to leave it be. "I should want to believe just the opposite. It seems to me that if you heard the truth about yourself too often, you'd learn to _loathe _honesty." Her gaze was still hard, but it now contained more skepticism than outright unforgiving.

"Let me tell you a secret, Deme - having confidence doesn't always mean you have anything to back it up with. You just trust that whatever it is that comes at you, you're be invincible, even if you're not. You should try it sometime, and give Munkus a day off."

She arched a fringed brow. "Strange, I always referred to that as egotism."

The Maine Coon's smirk broadened. "Call it whatever you like. It's still the same."

Demeter felt her ire dissipating into grudging tolerance. The Tugger may've been what she defined as an "incorrigible bastard", but he was still sharply attuned to his surroundings. Maybe it was a talent acquired from years of selective Queen-chasing, but still, if you had to be good at something. . . well, then he was an expert.

"Answer one question of mine, then. Who were you singing for? And don't give me non-committal answers, because you wouldn't accept mine. Surely the Tugger doesn't sing such a song without someone in mind, especially where he thinks no one will hear him."

Tugger turned his paws upwards, still grinning. "Guilty. I'm sure you won't like the response to this one, though."

Demeter sighed. "That's what I suspected." She gave him another penetrating stare. "I hope you know what it is you're doing. I know better than to believe that, though."

Somewhat shockingly, the Tugger toned down his cockiness, and looked thoughtful (or at least put on a convincing show of possessing something that vaguely resembled thought). "You're probably right when you say I have no idea - I suck at this chivalrous stuff, you know. But, another secret for you, Deme - I'm doing this because I want to. No other reason." He grinned again. "Isn't that a riot?"

"If it's not already, it will be." Never mind that she knew he meant that last phrase colloquially. The Rum Tum Tugger did have some humility, when the situation demanded of it. . . who knew? "They are justified in calling you 'the Curious Cat'."

Tugger's expression didn't fade. "They don't give titles around here for nothing."

Demeter took a moment to consider their conversation. To be fair, the Tugger had defended himself well, and even managed to call her bluff. The entire scrimmage of words was forcedly unintentional, but not a total travesty, if she made herself look at it objectively. She guessed she could revoke her earlier statement about not understanding Munkustrap's judgment. And as for Jemima. . . well, that was another subject. The thought of her and the Tugger still made her fur curl, but she supposed that the matter was not of her concern.

"Don't get the wrong impression," she reminded, austerity making a comeback. "As far as I'm concerned, we are still far from familiar terms."

Her target reacted with nothing but the same entertained surveillance, watching to see how she would follow up - but in the opinion of the black-gold Queen, the exchange was finished. The boundless joy that had overcome her before was mostly spent, but the Tom who had inspired it would remain with her, and that was consolation enough. Without speaking, she nodded once to the Tugger to announce her departure, and then turned away. It may've been abrupt, but they both knew that there was nothing left to say.

"Have a nice midnight snack!" he called cheerily after her, restored to his normal state of being so quickly that Demeter could almost imagine that they had never talked at all.

She only got three steps away before the singing started once more. And this time, if she was anyone to say, there was even more feeling behind it.

* * *

Over the past twenty-four hours, Bombalurina had been many things - worried, confused, suspicious, irritated, and more that she didn't feel like naming. Out of the spectrum of emotions she had run through, though, the one that was the foremost on the list was "worried". What part of the current dilemma concerned her more, she couldn't say, but she hadn't wandered all over the Yard searching for nothing. Where were Cori and Tantie when you needed them? 

Last night, the Scarlet Queen had been amicably chatting with the Matrons one moment, wryly complimenting the progress they had made in the kittens' upbringing - and then, she had noticed that Demeter had deserted her without any warning, or even a friendly goodbye. What was more dodgy about the escape was that the Guardian had vanished from sight, as well. . . It was hard not to draw conclusions, but Bomba wasn't her friend's keeper, so she decided to allow Deme her secrecy, no questions asked. It wasn't like she hadn't done the very same for her before (although, for certain _reasons_, this was just a bit different, ).

She had even remained in buoyant spirits when she returned to their den alone, finally falling asleep (Cat knew _how_) with the conviction that the black-gold Queen would appear beside her sometime during the morning, just like always. However, the sun had set and night had come again, and still, the space beside her was empty. . . And Bomba, despite her resolutions to look the other way, was beginning to develop an idea of what was afoot.

So, since the Scarlet Queen was not one to stand around and wait for the facts to come to her, she had set out in search for them herself. Her minx of a companion was still nowhere to be seen, and if truth be told, there was not much of _anyone_ to be seen. Unless, of course, you counted Munkustrap - and as soon as Bomba caught sight of him regally keeping his post on the highest junk pile, she knew he was just the cat she wanted to see.

Well, maybe lately, that was always the case - but that wasn't the point at the moment. The point was, she was minus a best friend, and the only one who might've had any idea as to her whereabouts had to be the silver tabby.

Smoothing down her ruff and giving her head fur a tease, she casually and expertly scaled the mound. When she reached the top, she grinned victoriously at the Tom who awaited her there, and watched with amusement as the tautness in his stance faded, almost giving the impression of deflation. _Always on the edge. . . _

"Good evening, Munkus," she greeted coquettishly, circling to the silver tabby's other side and seating herself with a _plop_. "It's a nice night we're having, don't you agree? I trust no mangy Pollicles are about, or you'd have bellowed long before now."

"Same to you, Bombalurina. . ." For some reason, he seemed discomfited by her presence. "Was there something you wanted to ask me?"

Bomba frowned. "_Someone's _sure ot in a chatty mood. And for the last time, it's Bomba!" She struck a sulky pose, perching her paws in her lap and raising her shoulders.

"Sorry, Bomba." He tried to offer a conciliatory smile, but his nervousness poisoned it. _Why_ was he acting so strange?

The Scarlet Queen pouted at him for a few moments longer, and then '_hmph'_ed and stuck her nose in the air. "Well, since you've made it clear that you don't want my conversation. . . I was just going to ask you about Deme. She's gone off and left me, and I thought you might know why."

At this, Munkustrap's discomfort came to a crescendo. Bomba did not turn her head back to him, but of the corner of her eye, she could see the guilt in his face. Before he even said a word, she knew exactly what was going on. Not that she hadn't suspected it all along. . . But she guessed she'd just had some silly hope that her instincts would be proven wrong. She shouldn't have been so. . . _devastated_. Demeter had finally found someone to love, who would love and care for her in return the way she needed to be. Mind, she could've at least _told _little ol' Bomby about it, instead of leaving her out in the cold. . . But she was Deme's best friend. It was her job to be supportive, to be happy for her friend's happiness, because that was just what good friends _did_. Wasn't it?

The silver tabby was just another Tom out of many. So he'd found himself a Mate. . . She still had plenty of other options to consider. For the love of Heaviside, she was the Scarlet Queen! Besides, he and Demeter suited each other, and always had. She didn't know where she'd gotten the idea to chase after him herself. She never really meant to steal him away - that simply wouldn't have been fair, and Munkus was too straight-edged to run with her, anyway (although maybe that's precisely what she'd admired about him in the first place). Really, she didn't _know _what it was she had meant to do. Things were always going to have ended up like this, eventually, it was just a matter of time. And suddenly, that time had come, and in spite of Bomba's anticipation of it, it seemed much too soon. Absurd, but true. How was this affecting her so deeply?

She forced herself to smile, cutting him off before he got the chance to summon the words. "Never mind, you don't have to say anything." She waved a paw, dismissing herself. "Silly me! I should've known. . ."

The Guardian's guilt changed into concern, and Bomba felt her false expression straining. _Munkus, don't you dare. . . _"No, I apologize. I should've told you that she was with me sooner. It was careless to have caused you to worry so needlessly."

He continued to implore her with that unbearable gaze, and she cursed his caring, biting down hard on the inside of her lip to avoid losing it completely. Even when she most wanted to, she couldn't hate him - his concern was so honest, and she knew that he actually meant every word that he said. He was handling this so perfectly, and _she _was the one who was messing things up. But really, isn't that what she thrived on?

"Bomba. . .?"

She was on her feet again before she had stopped to consider it. She was going to make him worry, and she did not deserve to be worried about. . . but right then, she had to _go_. "Well, now I know! It's alright. . . the best of my luck to the both of you, for what little it's worth. I'm sure you'll be happy together."

Taking a step back, she waved. "And now, I gotta go. . . night's young, you know!"

Munkustrap somehow did not feel at all warmed by the Scarlet Queen's tidings. "Thank you, but - Wait!"

By the time he had spoken, however, she was halfway down the pile already, pretending she hadn't heard him, and he didn't have the heart to follow after.

* * *

"Cor, Teazer! You've robbed 'em blind!" 

The tiger calico Queen entreated her partner (and Mate) in crime to her trademark mischievous giggle, delighted by look of astonishment on his face. The Notorious Duo was crouched behind a stack of overturned crates, freshly returned from another late-night burglary. Between them were two upturned swags, loot of every imaginable variety spilling out. . . Well, imaginable for a _cat_, that was. Their petty thievery had rewarded them with a very impressive assortment of costume jewelry, which much outnumbered any of the other findings - the pocketful of Human coins, the emery board, and the statuette of a nameless fierce-looking war hero all-inclusive.

"The Human male forgot to shove the box in front of the cat door, like usual, so I waltzed right in and took what I liked!"

"_That's _obvious. . ." Mungojerrie held up a string of the gaudiest beads he'd ever seen. They were undeniably ugly, but shiny, which he supposed was the appeal. "And where do you suppose you're going to wear _these_, eh?"

He jangled them at her, and she snatched the whole string away, possessive. "Silly! They're not for _wearing_, they're for _looking_!"

"Well, you can look all you want, then, 'cos I sure don't wanna." The tiger calico Tom pushed the pile away in disbelief, shaking his head as Teazer gleefully sorted her way through it, making all sorts of exclamations. 'Ooo, Jerrie, this one's real sparkly, bet it's _stainless_ _steel_!' and 'Ooo Jerrie, take a look at these, they've got miniature fishies dangling from 'em!'

He was having a perfectly amusing time just listening to her until a flash of red fur streaked by, and sat heavily on one of the nearby crates.

Rumpleteazer dropped her current item of interest (a depressingly two-halved friendship pendant) and shut her mouth, wide eyes peering through the maze of wooden slats at their intruder. In silent unison, she and Jerrie looked at one another, and then crept toward them, slinking through narrow tunnels of the mound with practiced surreptitiousness.

When they were decidedly close enough, they both hunkered down and began their investigation. Trembling shoulders and slender ankles only meant one thing - they were dealing with a Queen in distress. She had curvy hips. . . a predominantly red coat. . . all dead giveaways for Bombalurina! Jerrie took a step forward, and inhaled to be sure (which he could've done all along, but where's the thrill in that?) - yup, definitely the Scarlet Queen.

The pair lapsed into still silence. No more than a few moments had gone by when they began to hear sniffles.

"Well, color my eyes red and call me the Rumpus Cat. . ." The tiger calico Tom blinked in disbelief. "_That's _sure something you don't see every day."

His Mate nudged him in the ribs, hard, and scowled. "Every lady's got her troubles," she whispered matter-of factly, holding her head high. "Where's your sense of compassion, anyhow?"

"I'm with you, luv," he reminded, quirking his features. "If I do something wrong, you just hit me, and then we go steal something and forget whatever it was happened in the first place."

"Well, if other Toms are anything like you, no wonder she's crying." Ruffled, Rumpleteazer stepped out from behind the box. "_I'm _gonna see what's the matter, instead of sitting here and watching like the circus is in town. This is girl business."

"Aw, hey now, Teazer. . ." She flounced away without speaking another word, though, and was soon out of sight.

"_Hotels_." Glumly, Jerrie watched his Mate approach the Scarlet Queen through the slats, feeling even more rotten than before.

The tiger calico Queen crept up very tentatively, squeezing between the last two crates in the formation. Bomba hadn't noticed her yet, which indicated that she was pretty absorbed in whatever it was she was grieving over.

"Hey there, Bomby. . ." Teazer's voice was more muted and gentle than Jerrie had ever supposed it could get.

As soon as the words were spoken, Bombalurina sat up ramrod straight, and furiously set to wiping all evidence of tears from her eyes. Once she regained the bearings that Teazer had shocked away from her, however, she seemed to realize the act's futility, and settled upon a weak smile.

"You caught me," she replied with a tinge of sarcasm - at least her sense of humor hadn't given her the boot, too.

"Red-handed, I'll say." She smiled anxiously, and was very relieved that the Scarlet Queen was not so upset that she couldn't spare a laugh.

"You can tell Jerrie that he doesn't have to hide from us," Bomba said, with a leftover sniffle and the best smirk she could muster. "Crying isn't catching."

Tail between his legs, Mungojerrie obeyed the summons, standing awkwardly between the two Queens. Teazer glared at him, and turned her attention to Bomba again.

"Sorry for being nosy, but. . . This isn't about the Tugger and Jemi, is it?"

The Scarlet Queen laughed a second time, but this time it only sounded bitter. "_Tugger? C_at, no. . . The last time he made me cry, we were both barely a year old, and it was because I got the best of him in an argument, like I always do, and he stomped on my tail. He hasn't gotten much more mature than that since. He and Jemima can go start a whole happy family together, for all I care - except all the children would be dashing _and _smart, and we'd all be doomed."

"And don't forget the looks, too," Jerrie chimed, now imagining a dozen little Tuggers and Jemimas running around. The thought made him shudder slightly. The Jemimas wouldn't be so bad, on their own, but any spawn of the Curious Cat's that had a deceptive innocence and saucer-eyes was trouble.

"Anyone we know, then?" Teazer persisted. "But, if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine, too. . ."

"Actually, I'm glad for the distraction. . . it's embarrassing that I fell apart like that. I'm not thinking correctly." She sighed in a very i _c'est la vie _fashion. "The Scarlet Queen at her lowest. . . you should savor the moment."

Bomba stretched, and looked semi-composed when all of her feline joints snapped back into place. "As for your question. . . yeah, you know him."

Mungojerrie's face then developed a certain pucker, and his brow scrunched itself into a possibly painful configuration. Bomba's own brow elevated itself in response, and Teazer, unprompted, offered explanation. "He's thinking."

Both Queens watched with fascination as this routine wore on for several seconds - Bombalurina was simply entertained, and Rumpleteazer was waiting for the moment of epiphany. Her Mate's eyebrows always shot up a certain way right before he shouted out the answer. . . just like they were behaving now.

"It's. . . it's Munkustrap!" the tiger calico Tom announced at long last.

At about the same time Teazer proclaimed him an idiot and gave him a remorseless swat on the backside, Bomba made the assertion, "Wow, you're good."

The Notorious Duo froze, momentarily struck speechless - well, Jerrie was still massaging his injured rear, but that was overlookable. Slowly, they turned to each other, to see if they were both as flabbergasted as the other, and then directed mutual looks of complete incredulity at Bomba.

"Y'mean. . . I was right? It was just a lucky guess!" Mungojerrie sputtered.

"You're not fooling, are you, Bomby?" Rumpleteazer seemed unwilling to comprehend the information she had just been given.

"Wish I was, but no. There's no fooling here." Bomba tried to act nonchalant, but there was an unmistakable tinge of sadness in her voice.

Jerrie scratched behind his ear, still very much astounded. "And here I was thinking that Tugger was the only one who made the Queens cry. . ."

"It's not exactly like that. . ."

The Scarlet Queen did not elaborate, despite the many assumptions she knew were probably taking root in the couple's overly fertile imaginations - you didn't water the hotbed of potential scandal. Those who gossip know just how gossip is spread, and there was enough about her as it was. Kittens weren't the only ones making love confessions these days, it seemed. What a trend Jemima had started. . .

Furthermore, it was useless to keep talking, because it would only ruin her mood further - and Bomba liked to remain upbeat if she could help it. And if she was looking for a good way to lift her spirits, she was certainly with the right crowd. Believe it or not, way back when, she could've been the Rumple to Jerrie's Teazer, proverbially speaking, before said Queen had even come to live with the Jellicles. It wasn't a time in her life that she looked back on with particular fondness, but it had existed, nonetheless. And, as she was finding, it was hard to forget something you'd already learned.

Liking the idea of a distraction more and more, she hoisted herself off the crate, and struck a pose. "Anyway, forget about that. . . who's up for another game of smash-and-grab?"

Mungojerrie developed a sly grin. It was not hard to redirect his attention - and what Jerrie did, Teazer usually did too. "Why, Bomby, I didn't think you even remembered how. . ."

"Neither did I, but last one to the fence loses."

With that, she sprinted off, Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer not far behind. This was impulsive, and dangerous, and assuredly the most juvenile thing she had done in ages, but before the sun peaked over the horizon, she was determined to have her _own _fun, and she didn't care who saw her.

_It's not like that. . . _

If she ran fast enough, she could almost forget that the reason she couldn't finish the sentence was because she didn't know the answer.

* * *

**And they just keep getting longer. . . Bomby's the one who gets the adjective of "poor" this time, too. I'm so mean, but it's for the good of the plot structure.**

**I really agonized over the scene with Tugger and Deme. It seems like they'd have some character scruples, and I _really _wanted to address that somehow. That, and there's the scene from the video's Tugger sequence during the musical bridge, where he comes up and waves his hand in front of her facetiously, and then steals something while she hisses and makes a swipe at him (run on sentence). . . I can never figure out what it is he takes from her, though! Cat nip? (Deme's got a habit. . .)**

**And finally, Mungo and Rumple scored some dialogue (even if that ending was OMGsorandom)! I'm so glad they were able to work their way in. There was spying in abundance this chapter, along with the fluff - Vicki watching Jemi's dance, Deme listening to Tugger's serenade, the Notorious Duo scoping out Bomba. . . This story is turning out to have a lot of unintentionally similar themes. It furthers the whole "episode" theory. Jellicle soap opera!**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed this monstrous thing as much as I enjoyed writing it. It feels so good to be back in the fan fiction loop - and the composing loop, in general. Comments and critiques are equally welcomed!**

**Post-story nattering, end. XD **


	7. In Which an Incidence of Life and

**Coming of Age**

**by Cooking Spray**

* * *

**Disclaimer: Highlight address bar. Read carefully. Consult dictionary if necessary.**

**So, the deal with this chapter's untimely arrival is that I have been absorbed or otherwise preoccupied in costuming and the waking nightmare that is school. Also, my computer saw fit to tell me that "hard disk failure was imminent" at random one day, so I didn't want to write anything for fear it would be eaten. Do forgive the lateness. It's not a cop out, as I still have no intentions of abandoning this story - I love it more than anything I've ever composed. But, I also am infamously horrible at predicting my bouts of writer's block with any stability, so this is my way of saying "updates are hereby moved to 'whenever the hell I feel like it'". I'm not re-scheduling it from primetime to weekends after ten, mind, but trying to be realistic.**

**Bad metaphors aside, I don't have much to say this time, which is shocking. A pre-reading note that doesn't take up half of your screen! I guess it's because I've been planning this chapter out in my head for a long while, but really haven't received any compelling interest or motivation to plunk it out. I feel the need to get my hands dirty every once in a while, so to speak. On the upside, my Demeter wig is coming along quite nicely!**

**Anyhow, to those of you who awaited it, I present chapter seven, and it hope it is worth the months I just _know_ you spent in agony of its arrival. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Seven:**

**In Which an Incidence of Life and Death Must Occur**

It was supposed to be a séance, of sorts - of course, it was not the deceased or any sort of apparition they were calling upon, but rather a memory, _all _of their memories, anything explanatory of interpretive. Their four pairs of paws were all linked, eyes closed and heads bowed, and the whole affair felt rather foolish to Mistoffelees, even though the other participants seemed to be taking things seriously enough.

Coricopat was to his left, and Tantomile to his right; Cassandra faced him from across the circle. It helped that he had at least one ally in this - even though they all shared similar gifts, and therefore could never truly avoid each other, the Abyssinian Queen and the Dark Twins' female representative had the eerie ability to make the fur on the back of his neck prickle, especially as a double team. They were the ones so insistent on the necessity of this gathering. Cori, however, seemed just as reluctant as Misto himself to become involved.

They were supposed to be meditating; lending their power to one another to help strengthen the vision. Misto's heart was only half in it, though - and besides, it wasn't as if he'd be able to divine anything in any case. Basically, the only reason for his presence was to act as a source of energy, into which the three Seers of the group could tap in hopes of clarifying some mystical imagery, only part of which had been explained to him. The Conjuring Cat felt distinctly used, like a battery in some dispensable Human device. This was not the kind of magic he liked to perform.

Minutes wore on, and felt like hours, and eyelids like lead - so on, so forth. All were indications of his extreme disinterest in this endeavor, although no one took notice, considering everyone's eyelids were closed, and it was hard to tell whose felt more leaden that way. He had seen his Mistress do something like this, with her cocktail-attired friends (who too often loved to crush him against their bosoms and tell him what a good, cute little kitty he was). The only difference was that they had hummed, and were also probably extremely intoxicated by one too many of their pink drinks.

Some excruciating amount of time later, Cassandra abandoned her rigid posture to scowl at him. "You were the weakest link, Mistoffelees," she accused. "Have you still not discovered how to harness your power?"

"Hush, Cassie." Coricopat came to as well, and his rebuke actually sobered the Abyssinian Queen a bit. "He, like myself, doesn't see the reason for all of this." He directed his gaze specifically at his twin, then, challenging her a second time. Misto couldn't help but admire the directness with which he handled the two most meddlesome Queens in the Yard - females tended to intimidate him with their constant "I know something you don't" airs. To make it worse, these two probably _did _know something he didn't.

"Don't be so unkind, brother. You know what the Guardian told us last year as well as I do. Don't dismiss this as a female thing."

The dark calico Tom heaved a sigh. "A bunch of fuzzy images hardly count as a vision, in my opinion. And, if I may be so inclined to say so, I believe Munkustrap has his own _distractions_ to contend with right now. If this had anything to do with Macavity - which it does _not_ - he would've already heard about it. Several times, most likely."

"The Lady Demeter would make a lovely Human alarm clock, yes," Cassie mused aloud. "If only she made a ringing noise with the same regularity she says Macavity's name, my Mistress might actually make it to work on time. . ."

Coricopat flattened his ears and hardened his gaze a bit in slight warning. "No insult is needed, _pharaohess_. Demeter has experienced enough hardship in her life without your added ridicule."

"Touché, touché. . . And that's Prophetess to you, Cori. Prophetess of _Doom_ - and you'd best take me seriously, or you'll end up with the same fate as all of those silly Humans."

"It's obvious that someone has been sifting through Gus' private library." Coricopat rolled his eyes in the face of the Abyssinian Queen's saucy triumph before bringing the exchange to an end. "Anyhow, before I allow myself to be led too far astray from the original subject matter. . ."

Cassandra suddenly turned her attention to the magician. Misto found himself in momentary disbelief that the conversation was actually being directed at him, for once - never mind that it was about him in the first place. "Mistoffelees, what is _your _opinion in this matter? You volunteered your services to us, so surely you must think our cause is worthwhile." Her eyes glittered with an encouragement that could've been described as "menacing". They read, 'agree to this, or I'll make your life miserable from here on out. . .'

"Volunteered" was a bit of an overstatement - it would've been more correct to say that he was guilt-tripped in the way that only excruciatingly crafty Queens could get by with. The magician knew he was being manipulated, but to be honest, the frightening look on Cassie's face made him hesitant to tell the truth. He berated his own lack of self-confidence.

"Well, in all truthfulness, I'm still not sure what exactly the 'cause' is. But, if it is indeed for the good of the tribe, then you can be assured that my support is available unquestioningly."

Coricopat smirked at him. "Nice evasive technique. You learn quickly."

Misto bubbled with the joy of the older Tom's praise, but tried not to let it show too much - only a kitten was so easily swayed by the slightest bit of praise, and Cassie and Tantie were liable to tear into him and then dispose of the pieces quietly the next time they were alone together if he agreed in too much earnest.

Fringed brows drawing together in scrutiny, Tantomile regarded both her twin and Cassandra in turn. "We were actually attempting to be serious, you are aware?" The dark calico Queen centered fully on the latter party. "Cassie, this isn't a competition. Mistoffelees is doing his best under the conditions."

The Abyssinian Queen returned to solemnity, although whether it was by Tantie's command or the reminder of the subject at hand was uncertain. "I did manage to recall one detail." She leered at the magician, as if one detail was the extent of his worth to her. Thankfully, under the advice of Coricopat, he did not take her seriously. "Everything is still so obscured, but if I concentrate long enough, a single image stands out to me. It is of a constellation - Aries, the star of the ram. In my mind, it is directly overhead with the moon, so bright it hurts my eyes to gaze upon."

Coricopat looked thoughtful. "Aries. . . we will enter that constellation around the time of the Ball. The day of the vernal equinox, exactly."

Tantomile nodded. "Night and day will be equal."

Mistoffelees absorbed this process silently (not unusual, really). He was somewhat attuned to the stars' migration across the sky, but only vaguely so with the correct astronomical terminology to describe it. Then again, this was the Twins - they knew things that ordinary cats (and even ordinary Jellicles) could only guess at.

Coricopat didn't speak for a few more moments, features radiating various degrees of "deep ruminations afoot", and gave Cassie a begrudging expression. "Your divinity penetrates where mine cannot, it seems. I hate to admit it, but there may be some validity to your concerns. The images align too well."

Slowly, and with absolute satisfaction, the Abyssinian Queen grinned. "I told you that the Prophetess was not to be dismissed."

"It wasn't the prophecy itself that I took issue with, but the pomp of its deliverer."

Cassandra laughed. "One of us has to have confidence. You're the doubting Tom, Tantie's the ever-patient Queen, and Misto has not an idea in all the basements of the Hotels what we are doing here. That leaves me."

"Enough, kittens." Tantomile intervened both verbally and physically this time, standing between the two feuding. . . colleagues. It was subtle, but Misto swore he could see the traces of a former attraction in their eyes - it was obviously bygone, as Cassie now had Alonzo, but when two cats have been together, the phantasms of that time - be it an affair, a formal courtship, a Mating - never completely dissolve. If you look for the signs closely enough, you will find them - and if there was one thing that the tuxedo cat excelled at besides magic, it was observation.

The idea of Coricopat and Cassandra as any sort of item took him a bit by surprise, honestly. It must've been a secretive relationship, brief and torrid, because while he sensed that Tantomile had often suspected a past liaison between them, she did not know for certain. They must've masked their thoughts expertly from her, too, as Misto assumed the dark calico Queen could read them at will.

Still, Coricopat and _Cassie_? Perhaps she had been entranced by his wordless strength and wisdom - he admitted to a little awe himself, and Queens always seemed to love a mystery. They must've clashed, though. Mutual passion, but different hemispheres of thought - he could discern that much from mere observation, and his previous associations with the Abyssinian Queen. The moment made him the slightest bit curious (talking to the Tugger must've made the inclination catching).

The pair heedlessly stared each other down before Cassandra delivered a final and knowing grin and ducked her head. To Misto's shock, when she looked up, her eyes found him.

"Sooo. . . speaking of the Ball. Who are you thinking of inviting, Misto?"

Coricopat rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Cassandra. . . That is the most pathetic diversion I do believe you've ever resorted to."

The Abyssinian Queen jutted her nose into the air, self-righteous, but did not turn her head. "It's a valid question."

The tuxedo cat, however, was taken aback. The conversation had vacillated between divination and petty sparring, and had now suddenly settled upon a topic that seemed better whispered about between a couple of squealing kittens. In fact, he'd heard the young Toms arguing about something almost identical to this the other day whilst he was pretending to nap (which he did more often than he would like to admit). Most of them would come of age by the time of the Ball, and since it would be their first proper one as a fully-grown and initiated member of the tribe, there was naturally an amount of prestige and excitement surrounding the whole affair. Still, it had not occurred to him that he was now considered an adult, as well, and thus also eligible to extend his own invitation - the most likely cause was the fact that he, while also realizing that he was quite a few leagues superior in thought to other Jellicles, still saw himself as a kitten. Maturity did not make up for his lack of experience.

Proposition settling upon him with a slightly different luster, he considered Cassie's query for a while. A vague, improbable scenario unfolded in his head, but he shook it away - with great genius came the fallacy of loving too much in idealisms. There were too many reasons why he knew the answer that first rose to his tongue was also the one he should most prevent from ever leaving his mouth.

"I haven't given it much thought, to be honest," he answered finally. Although, now that the _idea_ was in his head, he suspected that this remark would soon become invalid against his will.

"Which is probably the best course of action, all things considered," Cori commended, still sending Cassie a sharp stare that she was by now completely in ignorance of.

"So says the Tom who has never attended a Ball when he was not in the company of his sister. What authority do you have on the matter?" Cori's glare was now comparable to a depth that rivaled some ravines, and although it was beginning to make even Misto anxious, Cassandra still seemed to be un-phased.

"Anyhow. . . Mistoffelees." Her smile glittered in a disarming way as she pronounced the name. "Even though it doesn't surprise me that you don't have anyone in mind, I would like to remind you that Tantie here is as of yet unaccompanied herself. Perhaps, if you were to escort her, this stuffy brother of hers might begin to realize how terrible it is to be alone in a crowd. . ."

The mentioned "stuffy brother" was, by this point, completely exasperated by Cassie's childishness. "Really, of all the most half-witted matchmaking schemes. . ."

_Hush, brother. Let her be. _A single glance passed between the two twins, and Coricopat seemed critical of the amusement that was evident in his sister's eyes. Still, he trusted her judgment, and let go of the argument, although not without some trepidation. In the scheme of things, it was trivial, and perhaps he had allowed his personal feelings to get in the way and exacerbated the entire situation. However, his points were always ones of principle, and if there were one Queen determined enough to defeat all of them for defeat's sake, it was Cassie. She knew how to agitate him far too well.

Tantomile felt her brother's thoughts collapse inward, presumably to brood, and then chanced an appraising look at poor Mistoffelees, who was once again caught in the middle. Although Cassandra's suggestion was only aimed at flaring Cori's temper, she did consider it for a few moments, even knowing better otherwise. The magician was young, barely a year into adulthood, but already quite the adept at his field - and he was not un-handsome, either, even if he was more slight of frame and stature than most Toms his age. In other circumstances, the dark calico Queen might've taken her cohort's advice - but, she knew where Misto's interests lie, and they weren't with her. They were both out of luck.

A transitive silence stretched, and Tantie soon found herself in the company of the Abyssinian Queen, who was smirking contentedly. Their quartet was divided into neat pairs, now, moon nearly risen. A peculiarly secular thought slipped into her consciousness, and she kept it there, a smile of her own beckoning the corners of her mouth.

_Ordinarily, I would demand an apology from you. . . But it seems you have once again bested me at my own game._ Tantomile watched Cassandra's self-content deepen, and shook her head. _You have known all along. That tongue of yours deceives. _

Cassie chanced a look at the two Toms in her periphery, eyes hooded and scheming. Coricopat was, undoubtedly, still chuffed at how cheekily she had behaved towards him - his seriousness made him too tempting to rile. Mistoffelees still looked a bit confused, and lost, and she knew he was trying not to think of the Ball, now that she had reminded him of it. _You may be able to read my mind, Tantie, but I can still keep many secrets from you. _

_I wonder what else I do not know, then. _Tantie looked into the self-proclaimed Prophetess' eyes, and knew they were both seeing the same thing - even serious-dreaming, dark-coated, mysterious-powerful Queens could plot girlish schemes. Foggy dream vision to unravel or no, it was naive to think that that the Dark Queen spent all of her time skulking about, prophesizing miseries.

The Abyssinian Queen grinned. _I am not at liberty to divulge _all _of my secrets, but I will say that it is rather unfortunate for two well-bred Toms in their prime to be pouting so._

_I should have expected that no work would be done if I invited you._ Tantomile's mind-voice sounded disapproving, but her eyes still smiled, and Cassandra knew that she would assist her.

If Coricopat and Mistoffelees thought they had problems to cope with _now_, they had not yet seen the half it.

* * *

Princesses, in all of the stories that Gus liked to tell, and that Jemima secretly enjoyed, were not supposed to be kept waiting. Instead, to prevent royalty from growing impatient, there were aptly named ladies-in-waiting who stood on their toes in a Princess' stead. They were the ones who took care of all of the unpleasant things in a young ascender to the throne's life while she sat alone in her turret, eating curds and whey and dreaming of the handsome young princes that may walk by and admire her long, luxurious fur, saving her from a life of unfulfilling luxury.

Jemima had neither the long fur or a turret - in fact, she wasn't quite sure what a turret was, and her knowledge of Human fairy tales was poor, at best. Still, even though Jemima was a Princess, she, unlike her storybook counterparts, was waiting alone. Her handsome prince (who, although definitely handsome, was not really suited to rule any kingdom in the near future) was due to show any moment, though, and in the meantime, Jemi had tread into the realm of romantic metaphors to amuse herself. So far, however, she was beginning to run out of ones with happy endings, and having to resort to Cinderella this early in the night would be far too pessimistic.

The moon was bright, she was patient, and the Tugger was late. Jemima bore the White Queen's advice foremost in her mind, though, and would not let this lateness (or, more specifically, what this lateness could be explained by) bother her. In all fairness, he did not even know he was being expected - how could he possibly make an effort to be early?

As soon as the Curious Cat did appear, however (she had, of course, sniffed him out first), she was at a loss of anything clever to say - although, in this moment of panic, she remembered she could not recall that she had ever had a conversation with the Tugger that included very many clever sayings, so the lack thereof would probably not be noticed. Since when had he ever been beguiled by a female because of her witty, unconventional way of phrasing greetings, anyway?

The Tugger took several long, lanky strides through the fence, looking, as usual, to be in an extreme state of self-satisfaction. When he saw that his reception was limited to a single nervous-looking rust-black Princess, his eyebrows shot up in what was not immediately identifiable as surprise or pleasure, and was perhaps more accurately a little of both.

"Good evening, Tugger," she said in a voice that was painfully shy and deliberate, even to her ears. It was a malady that had often overtaken Etcetera, but she had not considered that she and the white tabby Princess would've had anything in common when it came to handling conversations with a Tom. Stranger things had happened recently, though.

"_Well_. . ." The Maine Coon said this appraisingly, and Jemima experienced the silent cousin of a stammer, if such a thing was possible. "You mean to tell me you're the only one left here, Jemi babe?" He circled her in a way that was uncomfortably predatory and yet curiously gratifying; he might've practiced it, in varying quantities of the two, until Queens reacted appropriately. It was scarier to think that he _hadn't_.

Jemima felt one side of her face slacken, like she was drunk, especially as his fur brushed her own. She would not let herself mewl; that would've been too embarrassing. "I guess everyone else has better things to do these nights. . ."

"But not _you_, right?" The Tugger was, by this time, standing so close that his ruff was beginning to tickle her nose. While this was not at all romantic, Jemima blushed anyhow, and managed to suppress her sneeze. She was quite sure, by now, even if she was really bad at this, that he was flirting with her - it should've come as no surprise, because she highly suspected the Tugger would've even flirted with a fencepost, if it seemed like the fencepost might be interested. Still, he had never flirted in quite _this_ way with her, or any of the other Princesses, and it dawned on her that perhaps he was beginning to consider her as he might a Queen rather than a kitten. Her heart beat a little faster.

He saved her from answering the question by answering it himself, for which she was grateful - it had almost been rhetorical, and perhaps it was not good flirting etiquette to try and give responses to such things. _Electra would've known what to do_, she thought.

"They'll all just have to miss out on the fun then, won't they?" He grinned in a very easy, distinctly Tugger-ish way, and slipped an arm around the young Princess' shoulders, almost as if he were confiding in her. It gave her the odd impression that he believed the two of them to be old chums, of sorts, and while she didn't object to this assumption, she still found the casual familiarity that came along with this kind of flirting to be a little dazing (but not unwelcome).

Jemi declined to give an answer a second time, both for reasons of sheer verbal incapacity and the continued uncertainty of whether or not the Tugger's questions required an answer. _The Queen who talks least will be the one loved most_. . . A "proverb" she had heard discussed once. Not all proverbs were true, and more often than not, they all contradicted each other, but this one had struck Jemima as applicable, at least in situations such as these. (_Especially_ when she could think of nothing but nonsense to say.) It wasn't as if she had never been flirted with before - Admetus had come on to her countless times, but somehow she was always able to politely demur him, however exceedingly persistent and increasingly thin his lines became (this had been a little amusing, actually, but she was able to laugh because Addy was shameless, and even took her entertainment as progress). Maybe this was because Addy was, and always had been, a fellow kitten, and a friend of a sort. . . The Tugger had never been either, and could not have possibly ever been mistaken as such.

"You're so tense." He said it cheerfully, _obscenely _cheerfully, and it mortified her at how offhandedly he could announce her nervousness while she took every measure to stifle it. It was the Tugger's slightly more sophisticated way of prancing about and saying, "You _liiike_ me, you _liiike_ me", although he probably wasn't above doing this, either.

"You never _used_ to be tense around me, Jemi babe. What's the deal, eh?" The Tugger grinned down at her, in blithe anticipation of her answer - or rather, what she might try to say . He knew very well what the deal was. He just wanted her to admit to it.

'I suddenly seem to have found myself in love with you' didn't seem like a good response to give, so Jemima settled for something more vague. She felt only half there, anyway. "Things change."

The Tugger looked contemplative, and absently teased her head fur as he followed whatever train of thought had occurred to him. It was the second time he'd done this to her, and she wondered whether or not it was purposeful or compulsory. Against good reasoning, however, it relaxed her, this indirect act of physical intimacy, and she closed her eyes as his paw threaded through the strands; she was, for the first time that evening, finally able to remember why it was she had thought this was a good idea in the first place.

Feeling some of the tautness release itself from Jemima's muscles, the Curious Cat ruminated upon her. She was _odd _- only when he had not paid direct attention to her had she given in to any of his affections. He normally avoided thinking about the logistics of such things (hey, a purr was a purr was a purr, no matter how you got it), as doing so defied his credo, but Jemi was becoming both bamboozling and interesting, at the same time. Queens like Etcy were a dime a dozen (not to discredit the silly little minx), and the type he usually attracted (and, of course, couldn't turn away), but Queens like Jemi were rarer, unnerving. Most wanted nothing to do with him, or played games so intricate that the Tugger, in wanting to play along, generally became frustrated and lost patience with. He _knew_ Jemi, though, and had all his life - she was easy enough to read, but it was damn near _impossible_ to ever figure out what was going on in her head. It was disconcertingly alluring to hear some of the things that came out of her mouth being voiced by a wide-eyed, petite Princess, too. _He_ could've never thought of any of them. At the same time, though (and this was the kicker), she seemed largely unaware of her brilliance, despite rigorous self-examination.

The Tugger hated riddles, but loved mysteries - and Jemima was a mystery if he ever saw one. Call it thrill of the chase, but all consequences weighed, he found himself committed to solving it. Whatever "solving" really entailed, as far as metaphors went.

"'Things change', huh?" He continued tousling her head fur, amused and pleased by the rust-black Princess' purr, which was now audible. "For good or for bad?"

"Mmm. . . Can't say yet." No Jellicle can resist a good petting, and Jemima was no exception to the rule - her earlier apprehensions forgotten, she allowed herself now to lean back into the Tugger's chest, for the moment uninhibited.

The Maine Coon's grin was now at its maximum dimensions - content had been achieved. _This_ was why the Tugger loved Princesses. It didn't make him perverse, necessarily; he wasn't taking unfair advantage of the under-aged (what, you doubt his morality?). But, at what other age were females so trusting to let themselves melt against you like this? Exactly. As soon as you hit Queenhood, you got a title - and then, the Toms had to chase after _you_, and never the other way around.

Mid-rub, a perturbed alto voice shoved its way into the scene from above. "Someone should tell you that you're being awfully touchy-feely for a first date."

Both Tugger and Jemima jumped, collectively, the second the further of the two, although she only succeeded in painfully colliding with the spikes on Tugger's collar. They looked very much as if they'd been caught with their noses in the cream - although, really, why did either of them have to worry? Hadn't Jemima been seen purring against the Tugger a dozen times before? And what was so revelatory about him putting the charm on a hapless Queen or Princess? It had to have been that the both of them were so utterly unaware of another presence that the emergence of one had been a complete shock.

Whatever the speculative causes of their behavior, the effect was the same - the pair craned their necks and saw, a good altitude above them, a Scarlet Queen. She appeared to have been moonbathing on the Vicarage Wall, although her posture suggested that she had also been sunbathing a time before that, even. More shocking than the sight of Bombalurina in what was usually the position of their Leader was what she was wearing - atop her head, there rested a Human child's plastic tiara, slightly askew and at least two times too big for her. All either of them could do at first was stare, mouths agape.

Tugger recovered more quickly, which was unsurprising - once it came to him that Bomba had insulted him, he knew he couldn't leave the odds in her favor. "Is that jealousy I detect? Judging by that gaudy. . . _thing_ on your head, you've gotten your paws into Lady Thief's stash. . . And we know what Bomby goes back to when she's been downgraded."

Surprisingly, the Scarlet Queen did not so much as growl - her anger had burned past the point of rage and into bitterness. "Funny you should talk about downgrading, Tugger. The way I see it, you're not quite out of the dumps yourself." She looked very pointedly at the Princess on the Maine Coon's arm, whose ears immediately flattened. It occurred to her that she should've felt more remorseful for making such a meanly implicative remark, as she was really on Jemima's side, but her mood did not particularly care about those who were affected by its swipes right then, however blameless.

"You're taking your anger out on Princesses now, Bomby? Poor form, poor form. . . And I'll have you know that Jemi is here because she wants to be." Whether it was for show or merely an instinctual reflex, the Tugger drew her closer. Jemima now felt unnervingly like some sort of prop; a mere physical extension of the Tugger and Bomba's argument. She thankfully was astute enough not to take Bomba's comment to heart, but she couldn't help but wonder if that was what was thought of her and the Tugger's association, in the back of everyone's mind. She took advantage of his physical generosity for the time being, though, curling further into him; and although this was embarrassingly soothing, it was not as if it would really shield her from the acid on the Scarlet Queen's tongue. Tugger made a better pillow than he did a shield; which was to say that you'd much rather lie with him than trust him with your safety.

"Did it not occur to you that I might prefer Rumpleteazer's company as well? Or, as you so charmingly refer to her, 'Lady Thief'?" Bombalurina adjusted her crown as she said this - the gesture was meant to be un-ironic, but as soon as Tugger saw it, he began to laugh.

He only spoke again after the last chuckle had subsided - Jemima was now looking up at him, blinking and slightly bewildered. "Oh, you like their company fine. . . I'm not saying you _don't_. I just can't help but notice that you didn't seem to want to pay a friendly visit at all until Munkus took your friend as his Intended." A smirk. "She's a real winner, too - spied on me, and then told me how worthless and sneaky _I_ was after she was caught. So, if it's any point in your favor, I'd say the two of you have a lot in common."

Tugger had (again, unsurprisingly) cut straight to the heart of the matter. It was what Bomba both loved and hated about him - he was unapologetic and unhesitating, never stopping to sugar-coat things (he probably didn't even have the vocabulary - ignorance _is _bliss). Sometimes it made him refreshing, and other times it made him a pain in the arse. Since he did not bother with the usual reparations he made for other Queens (after all, he was not trying to get Bomba into his den. . . or at least, hadn't been for a few good years now), the words stung, especially since she knew they were true. Truth always hurt the worst. How had Tugger managed to cushion himself from the force of his own bluntness, she often wondered? It was a mystery for sure - having a Queen constantly at your side must've helped, though. In some ways, she could verify this.

Looking between the two of them, Jemima pieced things together. She hadn't counted on being stuck in the middle of a tiff (_especially_ a tiff between Tugger and Bomba, often synonymous with words like "escalate" and "violent"), but there were a lot of things that you didn't count on in life that happened anyway. Falling in love with the Tugger was one good example. And, in the case of the Scarlet Queen, she suspected falling in love with the Guardian was another.

With sudden determination, she wordlessly slipped free of the Tugger's hold on her (she did confess to at least a little regret at this, as the night was cold and he was warm), and made her way up a Human-made mountain of broken bottles and wheel spokes and bent, useless automotive parts. She hadn't any concrete idea of what she was going to do, once she reached the top of the wall, but her conscience told her that she should do _something_. And, more importantly, it was distasteful to act as the sort of Queen who would ignore a friend in need just to gain favor with her current company - not that Jemima was close enough with Bomba to rightfully call her "friend". Still, a common plight and gender does implore the growth of some feeling of kinship.

Bombalurina watched, with some detached sense of amusement, as Jemima scurried up to meet her. She wanted to laugh again - her sorrow must've seemed very oppressive, indeed, if it had tempted a Princess out of the Tugger's clutches just to comfort her. What did Jemi think she was going to be able to say or do, especially with the most obnoxious excuse for a cat as an audience? She'd always considered the girl to have a fair amount more class than most her age, but there was still no way she could hope to offer an words of wisdom that Bomba wouldn't have to scoff at. The fact that she'd given up what was usually a quite coveted position to offer kind words to a Queen that could be her mother was a little impressive, though. At the very least, Jemima represented some sort of moral conviction - could be a good thing in the Tugger's case, although it made some interesting contrast with her apparent taste in Toms.

Jemima found her footing on the ledge, and crept over to Bomba in careful, measured strides. The Tugger stared at them both in disbelief - he looked a little less smug now that his bragging rights had dashed away to fraternize with the enemy. The rust-black Princess would berate herself later if this compulsory action of hers ended up killing the supposed mood, but at least she had taken a somewhat literal stand. Tugger, being himself, didn't mean to be a prick, and Jemima was well aware, but she suspected that even what he considered to be all in a day's fun wasn't what the Scarlet Queen needed to put up with for the moment.

She looked at Bomba, eyes famously wide (but not dripping with a naive, overly moral-impressed sympathy, as she had expected). Jemima felt intimidated by the older Queen's experience, her distinctly adult beauty, and almost hesitated to speak - but of course, one would not dismiss a _kitten's_ shyness. In this moment, however, she was not approaching Bombalurina as a "role model", but as a fellow female, who is no stranger to the kinds of cruel things that Toms can do, even when they think they are on their best behavior.

In a voice that was remarkably resolute, she said to the Scarlet Queen, "Jennyanydots says that the best way to treat someone who can't behave themselves is, simply, not to play with them any longer." She paused. "So. . . I will sit here, until he behaves."

There was a deliciously awestruck silence, on behalf of both older Jellicles present, and then Bomba began to laugh, hard, until she was gasping and tears were forming in the corners of her eyes. The Curious Cat's expression went from utter perplexity to mild bereavement, although he couldn't decide which Queen most deserved to be scowled at.

"Ooooooh, _Cat_, that is _rich_!" Bomba gasped back a few final giggles, shaking her head and clapping a paw on a very bewildered Jemima's shoulder. "Jemi, I'm sorry to say this, but if you want _this_ one to behave, you're going to be sitting on this wall for an awfully long time."

Tugger now looked undeniably perturbed, and perhaps a little pout-y at being the subject of not only Bombalurina's jousting, but Jemima's as well. "So I'm a _troublemaker _now, is that it?" he questioned flatly. "You didn't seem to mind before Bomby here showed up. Queens in groups. . ." The last part of that sentence was muttered, but very audibly, and something about its further exemplification of the kitten metaphor Jemi had made beforehand sent the Scarlet Queen into more trills.

Jemima was beginning to think she had overstepped herself, however. Where had that sauciness come from, anyhow? It sounded more like something Electra would do to get a Tom's attention - in other words, not her style at all. "I. . .-I'm. . ."

"Don't whine, ickle Tugsy," Bomba crooned, grinning cruelly. "You got snitched on, fair and square. And it's about time, too!"

Tugger stared at her crossly, finding the persisting nursery age references not at all amusing. "Well, you sure cheer up quickly."

Jemima was still floundering with an apology. "But. . . I didn't mean. . ."

"Oh, for the love of the Heaviside, just get down there!" Again shaking with mirth, the Scarlet Queen gave the stuttering Princess a shove, but not unkindly - if that made any sense to anyone but Bomba at the time. Jemima squeaked and grappled with some sort of imaginary foothold before, of course, inevitably plummeting (although perhaps that is a strong word to describe a drop of only a few yards).

It was a moment of profound slow-motion time-stop that can only be preceded by the adjective phrase "one of those" - in which you knew, in some sickening, inevitable sense, just was about to happen, and that it _could_ be bad. But only because this possibility existed was there any real panic, because the only true reason that any Queen gives more than a passing thought to a routine lapse of cat-like grace is if there might be someone there, for some indeterminable reason, to break it.

The fact the Tugger was nearly in target range as it was could be overlooked. The more important thing was, he caught her - effortlessly, like a feather, and all that jazz. It looked like the most honest example of fairy tale romance that had happened all night (a stone wall could pass for a feline turret), until the Tugger realized the unconscious genteel in the action - and, in a fashion significantly less charming, dropped her. Jemima was fine, of course, and would've been either way, except that she was considerably more shaken and confused now than ever before.

Tugger caught onto Bomba's game, but too late, and he couldn't undo what he had already done. Looking strangled for lack of adequate speech to express his despise of the Scarlet Queen and her evil, female schemes, he glowered to hilarious effect at the mastermind of his sabotage. Where had that impulse even come from? It was downright. . . _chivalric_.

Triumphant, and noticeably back to her old self, the Scarlet Queen swung herself off of the wall and landed perfectly, the comparison only adding to the combination of mortification and indignation Tugger was currently suffering from. As she slipped past him, she smirked.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you that cats always land on their feet?"

While Tugger decided to greet this quip with more pouting (Jemima was making them all regress), Bomba addressed the fallen rust-black Princess directly, an unmistakably insinuative quirk to her eyebrow. "If that piece of work ever gives you any trouble, you're free to swing by my place any time."

Tugger scoffed. "Oh, _please_. You're corrupting the kittens now, too? When's a Tom going to get some slack?"

Bomba's grin didn't fade. "Everyone has to have a case of the breaks sometime, Tugsy. Figure out how to get out of yours!"

As she made her way over to the center of the Yard, regaining her famous Scarlet Queen sway, she left the pair with a last semi-prophetic utterance. "Jemi seems to have helped me. Maybe she can do the same for you."

Jemima, still lying where she had fallen, watched the Tugger's eyes follow Bombalurina until she was swallowed by shadow, brow furrowed. The Scarlet Queen had found her pluckiness admirable - this was another item that would've been gushed over at the nursery, where Queens were sometimes looked upon as celebrities. She didn't _feel _proud of herself, though, only more unsure of where she and the Tugger stood - not that a specific stance or status was required, as the acoustics of relationships were harder to pick out. Was he angry with her? Should she care? Hadn't she done the right thing? What _was_ "the right thing"?

Before she could be overwhelmed by all of her unanswered questions, she heard Tugger chuckle once, shortly, and looked to see him duck his head. When he met her eyes again (she was, apparently, not forgotten or ignored), his features were cleansed of any resentment or annoyance. In fact, he looked casually amused, and as collected as he always seemed to appear - although she had just seen proof that this wasn't the case, despite what he would've liked you to believe. This mercurial shift of mood only abated some of the rust-black Princess' confusion, though. She did not really know him, beyond being Jemima, the Wide-Eyed Kitten, and he The Rum Tum Tugger, perpetually charming and self-sure. Was it another childish assumption to have said she was in love? Her feelings didn't _feel _that one-dimensional, however, basis aside.

She met his gaze, on edge for what he might say. And he _did_ speak, not moments later, and her relief was again so strong that she could've hugged him, although that was something that she would never, ever do. Still,, the impulse was there.

"So, you think I'm a troublemaker. . . Do you plan on ratting me out to Jenny like you just did to Bomby, is that it? Do Princesses need ulterior motives to spend time with the Tugger now?" His tone was teasing.

"I didn't say that!" she insisted, earnest to absolve herself of ill-intent. Then, when she saw that Tugger was still looking at her with the same expression of amusement, she realized it wasn't necessary - she had already been forgiven, without an apology.

She started again, shifting her eyes. "I mean. . . it's in the song, right? I wouldn't be here if I disapproved." Her face heated up at this abnormally bald statement. "What I mean to say is, Bombalurina and I know this, and. . . I just thought that even troublemakers deserved a to be told when they were making _too _much trouble. . ." Why did her tongue keep running amok and allowing her to babble so? She sounded like a kitten again.

The Tugger just shook his head and grinned, though. "Jemi, you're the most adorable basket case I've ever met. Calling _me_ on my bad behavior. . . cheeky, cheeky. Didn't they tell you that I'm _incorrigible_?"

Basket case? Was that some sort of pseudo-compliment? With the Tugger, anything was possible. "They might've, yes."

"Well, just as long as you don't get any notions about changing my ways. . ." He offered her a paw up, which she accepted semi-dazedly - and when she was upright, he leaned in close to her ear, and whispered.

"And so we're straight about things - I didn't mean to catch you, but I didn't mean to drop you, either." He rose to his full height again, carefree, all-purpose smirk intact. "Got it?" he asked aloud.

Jemima nodded. She was coming to the realization that these paradoxical confessions were the only acknowledgement she was going to get from him, and somehow, the fact that he felt obligated enough to give them to her was more than good enough.

"Good girl." He ruffled the fur between her ears, and draped the arm back around her shoulder. While this was intimate for Jemima, she also realized that this was the way in which Tugger dealt with things - without this impersonal, physical power over her, she would be _different_, and this uncertainty in dealing with a female would be overwhelming.

"So, have you eaten yet? Because if this is going to be a proper date, I can't let you starve. It's not classy, you know, even if I'm enough to feast your eyes upon."

Jemima allowed herself to smile, almost entirely comfortable. Somehow, the Tugger's over-confidence, when looked at in the right light, made his swagger and her nervousness seem like one and the same. "No, I haven't."

"Then allow me."

He gestured with one arm toward the hole in the fence, exaggeratingly gentlemanly. With a paw on the small of her back to guide her though, Jemima almost summoned the courage to smack him.

So, this was dustbin romance.

She looked to the Tugger, all smile, saunter, and cocked eyebrows. She could deal with it.

* * *

The night was still outside the nursery - still and cold, like most winter nights tend to be. Since the moon had only just risen a few hours ago, the temperature was not yet unbearable, but it was slowly getting there, as the lone Princess in the Yard's center was beginning to feel.

Electra sighed, smoothing her rusty, tortie-patterned coat (affectionately described as "toffee", because sweets were a much preferable analogy than the shade of corroded metal), on end from the chill. There were only two good things to do on such a night - stay in, curled up nice and cozy away from the harsh outdoors, or find a friend and a fun way to keep moving so that the weather never caught up. The Toffee Princess, however, was finding herself at a loss for either, something that irked her greatly.

She sniffed disdainfully as she heard Etcetera's squealing echo in the distance - Pounce had been waiting for her by the door earlier, and the White Tabby Princess had ran off with him shortly thereafter, with only a short "Bye, 'Leccie!" thrown after her as she bounded away. Electra might not have minded so much, had Admetus or even Jemima been there to keep her company - but, it was just her luck that both had picked that night to have "prior obligations". At least Addy's "family business" was a bit more forgivable than the lack of an excuse Jemima had given to her. The little minx had vanished before either she or Etcy had even awoke, but Electra had a good notion that she could've found her waiting outside the fence for Tugger. All of her usual female company had deserted her in favor of chasing after Toms, and the only reason she was bitter was because she could not follow suit.

The Toffee Princess shifted off her side, now sprawling moodily across the tire. She supposed her pouting wasn't very becoming, especially when she was due to enter Queenhood in a couple of moons, but she gave into it anyway. Boredom did not suit her, and being a victim to it was putting her into a very apathetic frame of mind. Thinking of Addy, warm in the den that Mother Jelly shared with Gus, almost made her regretful that she, too, did not have a family of her own that required her obligations. This was silly, and she knew that she was only having such absurd urges because of her own temporary solitude. Most of the time, Electra took pride in her freedom, and perhaps even thought that being a stray was the slightest bit endearing. The fact that she had stood alone for most of her life was an indication that she was not unafraid to do what was necessary to support herself in the future - something that had been entering her mind a lot recently.

Just then, there was a shuffle to the left of her, and Electra sat up, ears swiveling themselves toward the source, listening for further noises with interest. Perhaps she had a visitor? Maybe it was the Guardian, making his nightly rounds. . . She wouldn't mind that, as the Toffee Princess had always had a little crush on the silver tabby, which had only deepened into a great admiration and respect as she had grown older. This was unlikely, though, as word had gotten around that morning that he had taken Lady Demeter as his Intended. Surely the tribe's second-in-line had better things to do now than stalk about the Yard, striking up happenstance conversations with lonely Princesses.

A few more scuffling noises were heard, but when no one presented themselves, Electra's hopefulness began to diminish. It was more likely that her caller was a rat that had wedged its way into one of the junk heaps rather than another Jellicle - that, or just Jerrie and Teazer, making yet another quick getaway. Glumly, she lowered her head onto the tire again, mood even more foul. Where was a handsome Tom when a girl needed one?

As if in answer to her frustrated ponderings, the loudest of the previous racket sounded, once again startling Electra into a more alert posture. Before she could get a better panorama of her surroundings, to determine just _what_ could be making such awful ruckus, a brown-spotted Tom burst into view a scant distance away from her. No longer expecting company, Electra's first impulse was that of panic - and, acting accordingly, she screamed.

Tumblebrutus' ears flattened in an instant, both at the offensive pitch and the shame of being a cause for fright. Trying to mediate the situation before Jennyanydots came out to investigate and accused him of some wrongful intent, he rushed forward, where the moonlight hit him more directly. As soon as the startled Princess recognized that she wasn't staring into the eyes of some strange creature of the night, or, worse, one of Macavity's henchcats, her jaws clamped, and the screaming ceased.

"Oh, Tumble. . . it's just you. . ." Electra placed a relieved paw to her chest, against which her heart was still thudding madly.

Tumble, although now determined not to be a threat, still hung back, a bit hurt that Electra would mistake him for someone of ill-intention, especially considering how long they had known one another. Ears drooping further, he offered apology. "Sorry to, uh, scare you. . . I just came back from the alley, and saw you, and thought you might, well, want a little company. . . if you don't, that's okay, though."

Now was Electra's turn to feel rotten. Ever since Jemima had first started moping about, it seemed like Tumble had become a bit more reserved about playing the usual games, himself, so it hadn't even occurred to her that he might be alone tonight, too. That, and no matter what sort of delusions Jemi was having about the Tugger, the Toffee Princess still thought that the pair might make a good match. The conversation the three of them had shared in the TSE1 that night had given her the idea, but now she was beginning to rethink herself. Maybe Tumble really wasn't interested in Jemi, after all. If he was, wouldn't he be looking for her, instead of standing here?

She shook her head. "No, no, I'm the one who should apologize. I just overreacted a little. Sorry." She grinned, trying not to seem glib, and then sat up and patted the space on the other side of the tire. "Here, you can sit, if I haven't scared you away."

Still a bit apprehensive, but at least temporarily eased by Electra's sincerity, he climbed over the tire and sat where she had motioned. The Toffee Princess smiled at him again, some sheepishness still lingering in her features, and he relaxed. It was good to know that he wasn't the only one who was still embarrassed.

As was commonplace in such scenarios, a bit of an awkward silence followed. Electra had gotten her wish, and even if it wasn't exactly what she had in mind, Tumble's presence was more cathartic than she had anticipated. She had gotten far too used to having Admetus for company - with him, there was never any sitting down, although Electra usually liked to be kept on the move anyhow. The change of pace was nice, though. The young spotted Tom, with his honest and reserved manner, somehow put her at ease too, even though he had given her a fright just moments earlier. Suddenly, spending an evening like this didn't seem too terrible.

"It seems like everyone besides us is out having fun, huh?" Tumblebrutus looked up to see Electra turning her eyes to the stars, looking a touch wistful. He tried not to stare, but couldn't help himself - lately, the Toffee Princess struck him as gorgeous. Unfortunately, however, he was not the only young Tom to think so. Admetus had always been quicker to act upon his feelings though (or rather, had always been the more charismatic one), and seeing how well the two seemed to compliment each other had thusly discouraged him from doing likewise. It really wasn't fair - Tumble knew Addy was still attracted to Jemima, too, even though she hadn't paid anyone besides the Tugger romantic attention. He had it in his head that the Curious Cat was just a phase that all Princesses go through, and that Jemi just hadn't passed hers yet. The more Tumble watched her, the more he didn't agree, though, and thought that Jemi's feelings deserved more merit than that. In a way, he thought he understood them. It was only in times like these, when everyone else had better things to do, that he could capture Electra's full attention.

Electra turned to him again, and met his eyes - he wondered if she had noticed his staring. If so, it didn't seem to bother her. "You don't mind being alone, do you? I mean. . . when the rest of us off together, getting up to the usual mischief, you seem to hold back sometimes. I hope it's not because you feel excluded, but. . . Most of the time, you look like it doesn't bother you."

Tumblebrutus was inwardly surprised that she had paid enough attention to him to notice such behavioral quirks. Perhaps he hadn't given her enough credit - or, more plausibly, he had dismissed his chances too hastily. Whatever the case, it was cause for a smile. "I've always kind of been the odd one out. It usually doesn't get me, although it did sometimes when I was littler. I gotten used to being alone, though, and decided I liked it. It gives me time to think, and I don't think a lot of us give ourselves time to do that every once in a while. Once I got time to stop and consider things, I came to the conclusion that maybe the reason why I always allowed myself to get left behind was because I was the type of cat who actually needs to be alone every so often." He realized he had rambled, and looked down, cheeks growing heated. "Sorry. That's probably more than you wanted to know."

Once again, to his awe, Electra actually seemed intrigued. "No, it's fine. It's just that I'm not usually like that. . . At least, I don't think I am. I feel best when I'm with friends, having fun. When I'm all by myself, I get depressed. I think Jemima is a little like you, too - it always confused me when she went off by herself. But now I know what the both of you do when I think you're being unsociable!"

Tumble smiled, amused. "You're an extrovert - you like to be among people, and socialize. Jemima and I are both introverts - we don't mind socializing when the time is right, but we need to be alone, too." This was an observation he had already made long ago, but it was still true.

The Toffee Princess giggled. "You sound like Misto. He always uses the perfect words like that, to describe a cat. . . I wonder how the both of you got so smart. When I want to describe something that way, it always comes out all jumbled together."

Although it was indirect, Tumblebrutus flushed again at Electra's compliment. How did Humans exist, without fur to mask their embarrassment from the world? "Well, if it's any consolation, I can understand you just fine."

"Aw, that's such a sweet thing for you to say!" Electra beamed at the spotted Tom, genuinely pleased. If Admetus were here, rather than Tumble, they probably would've already fought twice over some careless remark he'd made. She found herself not unwelcoming of the change of pace. Why was it that she and Tumble had never talked this way before?

Doing the only thing she could think of to properly show her appreciation, the Toffee Princess leaned across the tire, and kissed him on the cheek. She sat back, looking quite pleased with herself, and especially the spotted Tom's incredulity as one paw found the place her lips had graced seconds before. This gave her a feeling of warmth, to have been given a compliment and returned it, in her own way. It was a different kind of warmth, too, unlike the variety that Admetus sometimes made her feel, with a paw around her waist or even on her hip, ever so briefly. This warmth inspired a feeling of safety, security. She couldn't differentiate between the two more exactly in words, even though Tumble probably could. Electra did not want to ask him, however. Somehow, this seemed like something she should keep to herself for a while. She couldn't properly explain this, either, but knew at the same time that it was the best thing to do.

"Th-thank you. . . ?" It was all that Tumble knew to say. Electra's openness, while not exactly unknown to him, sometimes still came as a shock. Then again, her spontaneity was one of the traits that made him admire her.

"Oh, no need for thanking." She winked, liking the adorable effect her coyness seemed to produce on Tumble. "I'm just paying you back. I can't give you pretty words like you introverts can, but I can give you the next best thing I have to offer: a smack on the cheek, courtesy of 'Leccie!"

Tumblebrutus shook his head, grinning in spite of himself. "I'm sure you have other talents. Don't undersell yourself."

Electra was both surprised and delighted as she heard Tumble actually playing along. "You're rightthat's not the _best _I have to offer. . . but you only get to see the rest if you promise to stop _thinking _and start hanging out with us again once in a while. It's not fair play to go all broody for a week."

"Maybe I'll have to take your advice, then." The brown-spotted Tom's grin expanded, and he even quirked an eyebrow. He almost looked like that same Tom who had helped Addy pin her for a tickle attack, on a not-so-faraway moon.

The Toffee Princess sported a grin to match his, and teasingly nudged his knee with her own. "Just 'maybe'?"

"Alright, _must_."

As the two looked fondly upon one another, Electra's good spirits restored and then some, Admetus was the furthest thing from their worries.

It was safe to say that they were the furthest from his, too.

* * *

There are cats whose specialty in life is to look out for others, offer guidance, protection, and unwavering support. There are also cats whose specialty is to See, to Know, and to forewarn. And then, there is the third category - the entertainers, who feel most alive in the center of things, always seeking to garner appreciation. Their numbers and talents are many, and always the most oft-remembered, through the persona they create for the stage of life.

Gus belonged to this third category. He was an actor, a story-teller - before he was even weaned, he found ways to make up stories about things, from the magic machine (later revealed to be a lorry) that whisked his family away every morning, in the garage where he and his mother and siblings were confined, to the strange Human children who always wanted to coo and pet him, never understanding his wishes to explore on his own stubby legs. And as he grew older and more wizened, his love for stories only expanded - he was introduced to acting, and the joys of a stage and a script. These were things that had not deserted him, even in his most elderly years. Even when you become too feeble for performing, there are always constants in the life of an entertainer that will never leave - a love of life itself, and the ability to tell about it, for even those beyond the realm of your experience to appreciate.

Those who share that life with you, though, can often be the most difficult to comprehend this compulsion to live for others, rather than merely yourself. Especially when you've reached the end of your path, and have only these stories left to tell, knowing that all new ones that will be created will be done so without you. It is hard even for the storyteller to accept this; that stories will still be told, even without the storyteller there to tell them.

Gus knew his days were numbered - he was old, and he was lucky to have had the privilege of living richly in his time on Earth, to have met so many wonderful felines such as himself and touched their lives. He was lucky to have had a family, what with the inconstancy and roam that his lifestyle usually required, a beautiful Queen and a son who shared his passion. And he was lucky to be able to pass on not alone, but surrounded by friends, and to have the promise of the Heaviside Layer stretched out before him.

This was why he had called the family meeting, even though he had never in the history of all their days together cared for such a formal thing - but now, there was a necessity for it. It was the final act of his life, and it required some solemnity and recognization before everything that had transpired thus far could be celebrated.

Propped up among the cushions, with Jellylorum on one side and Admetus on the other, they sat together quietly, waiting for Gus to speak. The Matron had one of her Mate's paws in her own, and was stoking his arm. Addy was looking down into the folds of the blankets, expression intense and unreadable.

"Family," the Theatre Cat said finally, in a rich and emotive voice that had only been made slightly rickety by age. "Both of you - my beloved, my son - know what I am about to say. And even though I am usually excellent at saying things, especially to such a small audience, this is something that even fail to find the words to express."

Tears began to well in Jelly's eyes, but Gus _shhh_ed her and wiped them with his paw, preventing their descent. "I know you will not be able to help missing me, just as I will not be able to help missing you. So, let us spend the time together, as if it is the last we have - and let there be no tears. Save them for later, for when the time comes, I'm sure you will have plenty."

The elderly Tom gripped the paw that his Queen had already taken hold of more tightly, and then looked to his young son, offering him the other. Admetus looked up and met his gaze, expression almost unreadable, and accepted it. His mother reached for his paw as well, and together the three of them formed a circle on the floor of the den, silent with sorrow.

"Remember that these incidences of life and death must occur," Gus whispered, facing his only child. "You will be no stranger to them as your own life progresses; your mother has seen many in her own time. Some will affect you more than others, but you will never forget the first that you encounter, because it will awaken you to the fact that your days here are limited. Live fully, as I have - don't let death trifle you unless it has to."

Jellylorum had started trembling at the words, and Gus rested his head against hers, giving her strength. "You knew that this part would be the hardest, Jelly-love. And you have kept by my side even in spite of this."

He looked to Admetus again, squeezing his hand, gaze firm. "You're young yet, Admetus. I gave you a strong name, because I knew that you would take after me, and that you would need the importance of a sturdy title to remind you of your place in the world, should you ever get lost. I know that right now, you are still a kitten, and the things that preoccupy you are the things that reoccupy all youths - and although you will soon become a Tom, I will only get a glimpse to the kind of person you will turn out to be. However you live, Admetus, live fully. I cannot ask you to live for me, because you must follow your own road, but do look after your mother. Neither of you deserve to be alone."

The rust-calico Tom nodded shortly, and tightened his grip on his father's hand. There was a tense silence, through which the wind predictably whistled, and then Gus smiled again.

"No more talk of grim things, now. Remember what I've said - but for now, I still have time left, and out of all the wonderful cats I've met in this glorious country, you're the two I'd most like to share it with."

The Theatre Cat drew both Mate and son closer, and neither protested. As the weather built into a tempest outside, howling and thrashing, the trio stayed warm, one last time, together.

* * *

**Chapter seven is, finally, complete. I started it some time in February, and finished in May. . . how truly pitiful is that? But never to fear, summer break is on the way in two glorious days. **

**Thoughts on this chapter. . . Well, the Cassie/Cori element may've come as a surprise. For reasons unbeknownst to me, I've been entertaining the idea of them together for a while, partially because Cassandra is a very seductive character, and I can entertain the idea of her with anyone. XD Coricopat is rarely written, though, so I thought I'd find a way to give him a small role in the grand, sprawling thing this little ficlet is turning out to be. This is what happens when CS sits down to write the humble beginnings of "a realistic 'Tugger falls in love' story with Jemima". . . full blown fiction warfare. I don't do things on a small scale, no. This is why all of my one shots can't be kept under seven pages, and why these author's notes keep stretching themselves into ungainly proportions.**

**Anyhow, I have to say that the scene with Tugger, Jemi, and Bomba was my favorite to write. It went through countless minor revisions, since I composed it over such a long span of time, but I had too much fun. It also may or may not sound like it's on acid, considering I was inspired by at least five vastly differing prose styles that I was reading at the time. XD I really wanted to expose some things about Tugger's character, to make some of his behavior more dimensional, and I did this while concentrating more on Jemima's perceptions rather than his (which are not always exactly reliable, you must understand). I'm proud of the result. Bomby and the tiara has to be one of my favorite bits, too. And Tugger knows his pick-up lines are corny, but he also knows that the Queens will love him no matter what he says. XD**

**Also, we have this new Tumble/Electra/Admetus love triangle thing broadening. . . It was alluded (well, more than that, really XD) to from early on that they both wanted monopoly on her affections, but that Addy was the more forward of the two. In order to make Leccie's indecision plausible, though, I gave her and Tumble this neat little scene all to themselves. Just in case, y'know, Tugger and Jemi didn't quite deliver with the sticky-sweet romance (it's the genre, so I have to get my quota in!). Tumble went through some personality re-evaluation, though, methinks. . . The bad aspect of writing things over a span of time is that as you and your writing evolve, so does continuity. In chapter three, if you'll rummage through the lowest dirges of your memory, he was arguing with Addy and tackling Pounce - and now he's playing Mr. Sensitive. I did try to justify it. . . lamely. XD Oh well. We all know how differently boys behave around other boys, correct?**

**And lastly. . . the Gus. No one writes about him! I suppose that it's because he's older, and thus unappealing to most of the fan fiction-composing demographic. . . That, or everyone fell asleep during John Mills' performance, and forgot him entirely. This was a necessary inclusion, though, partially because it will have _special plot relevance _(guess, guess!) later, and because it'll do some things for Addy that will in turn do some. . . other things. You'll see!**

**I'm leaving this one on that note. Until next chapter (of which I already have seven whole pages written! Go me and my fore-planning!), you can, er, read all of the previous ones and remember what in the hell happened up to this point in the first place. XD Yeah!**


	8. Actions and Words

Coming of Age

by Cooking Spray

* * *

Disclaimer: Highlight address bar. Read carefully. Consult dictionary if necessary.

. . . And this be-eth the point at which I do the dance of summer break! Come, rejoice with me!

Also, I've suddenly rediscovered why it was I was so in love with this fic, so with ample time on my hands again and nothing better to use it on, you can guarantee that there will no longer be an interim of several months between updates anymore. Yes, I suck with promises and commitments. . . Hm, I'm a little like Tugger in that respect. XD But I'm being honest this time, I think!

Anyway, I really love what I got to write about this chapter, so I'm excited to get some feedback (that doesn't say "hinthint" at all. . . I am shameless, so shameless). It's weird to write about winter when temperatures are now currently in the "hot and humid" range again, but that's what procrastination does for you.

A special thanks also goes out to hyper-health-critic, for her lovely review and continued inspiration. I appreciate every word you give me. :)

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 8:

Actions and Words

Last night's gale-force windstorm, which had sprung up suddenly out of Mother Nature's fickleness and discontent to allow peaceful weather, had left the Junkyard and its inhabitants a bit frazzled. Those who were stubborn enough to brave the cold conditions beforehand had been blown back into their dens, shivering and fur in disarray - a slight snag for the Tugger, who always liked to be well-groomed if he could help it. And more than that, the quick turnabout in climate had cost him his so-called "date" with Jemima. He'd been frowning when they both had to stumble back to the nursery (although not because of the number of times a particularly strong gust had caused her to fall into him). Any other time, the proper protocol would've been to suggest that she come back to his place so that they could "cozy up", but he had to keep remembering her age. He'd be glad when the next moon was risen and gone. 

For this night, however, Jemima was being kept under strict Matron supervision. Jenny had scowled disapprovingly to the best of her considerable ability last night, when their popular charge was put back in their care again by an advantageous and wind-mussed Maine Coon at nearly an hour until dawn. With only two days left until her "big day", they decided it was best that the Princess concentrated on preparations, rather than let herself get distracted by Toms. Her nursery mates already had the last part quite taken care of for her, anyhow.

With a few very adamant and well-placed warnings about who had Jemi's custody (the sternest of which was directed at Tugger, who chose to look off innocently in another direction), Jenny and Jelly made their intentions clear. Jemi was, ever-so-slightly in her heart of hearts, disappointed, but she knew the discipline was deserved. Just replaying the scenes from last night was enough to content her in the interim.

At sunset, Etcetera had already awoken from her nap in the slatted sun, and gone to preen near the gathering of young Toms for Pouncival. It didn't take much to gain his attention - several licks into a very provocative bath, Pounce had tiptoed over to "assist" her, and now the pair were shyly darting their tongues at each other's head fur and giggling. The bulls-eyed Tom now sported a mohawk, and Etcy several oddly-placed tufts that could've passed for pigtails. Ever since the apology Pounce had made for the water-dumping incident, he and Etcy had seemed to grow closer. And indeed, the white tabby Princess now spent most of her spare time rollicking around with him, instead of with Electra and Jemima. It was part of a trend that the Matrons had observed with many a litter of kittens - adolescence.

With the kitten-love also came the moodiness and the self-indecision, however. Jemima certainly fit the last bill well, although she'd been self-indecisive perhaps her entire life, given to long, solitary perches on a variety of ledges. And Admetus certainly fit the first - if ever a Tom had a face moodier than the one he was wearing that evening, Jennyanydots would've marched right up to Macavity's front door and invited him over for a spot of afternoon tea.

His unpleasant expression probably had something to do with the fact that Electra was currently talking animatedly with Tumble, in-between mouthfuls of a mouse they'd caught together earlier that afternoon. Not only was Addy put out about not being _invited_, and the fact that his bi-coated friend was encroaching on his territory; there was also the health of his father to consider, with whom he and his mother had spent the entire night. Although he was at an age where most Toms prefer to distance themselves as far from familial dependency as possible, there was no denying that Admetus and Gus had always been close. To suffer from all of these things at once was quite a burden, and the long face was more than justified.

Mother Jenny watched all of her adoptive kits with fondness from atop the boot of the TSE1, a square of cross-stitch in her lap and a thimbleful of thread at her side. Tonight, she was needlepointing something very special - it was intended to be a gift for Jemima in celebration of her coming of age. Each time one of her number graduated from the nursery, she made it a point to give them something, even though her love and attention was more than gift enough. Despite all they put her through, she loved all the little dears as a mother would, having never been able to have any of her own.

This design was going to be very complicated, and her arthritic paws were already protesting the demands it was putting them through in its completion. Jenny had had her mice specifically pilfer this shade of blue from the sewing cabinet - she had seen it one day while her Mistress was gathering embroidery materials for a baby blanket of a quite lovely description, and thought it matched the exact shade of little Jemi's eyes. She'd instructed the mice only to take a _little_, however, because her Mistress was good to her, and she didn't want to deprive the Human kitten of its own beautiful blanket on her account.

The Matron made her stitches efficiently and with great preciseness, adding just a little of the special blue thread here and there. She was a bit saddened that she didn't have Jelly's company to make the time go faster, but she knew her friend had more important things to deal with - that, and it was probably for the best that time didn't go faster for her at this age, because there wasn't enough left as it stood.

With a chuckle, she wove in a topaz strand, looking to the Princess to whom the gift-in-progress would be presented for inspiration. Surely enough, her face was tipped towards the rising moon in an exaggerative pose of expectancy, although Jenny had been a Princess a short enough time ago to remember that the thoughts in her head were considerably less elegant.

Holding the fabric up, she positioned the square so that it aligned with Jemima's face, examining her handiwork. Even though her paws shook slightly, the full effect was still enough to make her smile, and she threaded her needle again with satisfaction, with the richest blue in the palette.

This would be her best work yet.

* * *

It was an hour past nightfall, at the Junkyard's highest point, and there keeping the usual post was Munkustrap, in place on the busted old contraption of a lorry that served as a watchtower. Under usual circumstances, he didn't mind his duties - he took pride in his position as Guardian, and the solitude gave him time to think. However, right now, _thinking _was exactly the thing he did not want to do. For the first time in his life, there was beautiful Queen waiting for him in his den. . . And also for the first time, there was a terrible deed of his that needed reconciliation. It didn't help that the Queen and the deed were nearly one and the same.

Far removed from his life on the ground, his thoughts were tumbling toward the range of despair again. The thing that he thought would complete him, and make him his happiest, had just occurred, and his couldn't even be happy about it! The fact that life was ultimately a string of consequences and complications that were to be unraveled was never something that he ignored, but he supposed that he had gotten overly comfortable in his systematic ways, thinking that as long as he did everything justly and step-by-step, he could avoid the snags that seemed to plague all those around him in abundance. For the love of Heaviside, he was the cat who was appointed to _mend_ those snags! And what had he done but, in his zeal to seal things neatly and nicely, ignore the largest one of all. It felt terrible. It was a _failure_. And more than that, it had _hurt_ someone.

In the midst of this mental berating, he hadn't heard his latest visitor come up - so when he heard the crush of metal beneath a pair of feet, the silver tabby was sent into panic, expecting another Scarlet Queen.

It was thankful that the figure that next appeared was of a tall, lanky, and proudly long-haired Maine Coon, then - and while Munkustrap's first reaction upon the identification of these characteristics was usually not to breathe a sigh of relief, that is just what he did.

Placing a paw to his chest, the silver tabby gave proper greeting: "Oh, thank the Heaviside, it's just _you_."

The Tugger looked comically aghast. "_Just _me? That's not very nice to hear, Munk - especially when it's not everyday the _Tugger _comes to call." He frowned. "Who else were you expecting, eh? Deme? Is she seeing you on duty as well as off already? I know those night shifts can be long, but I never thought-"

"Tugger. I hate to say so this early into the conversation, but_. . . Shut. up._" As soon as his relief had washed over him, it had evaporated. The Curious Cat had only spoken two sentences, and he was already tired of him - it was going to be a longer night than he had expected. Didn't he have Queens to chase, or something? Or, more specifically, _Princesses_?

Tugger took the rebuke with an expression of delight, and also interpreted Munkustrap's lack of further instruction as an invitation to sit himself down. "Ah, just like old times. So, Munk, how're you hanging in there? By the way, although I kind of gave it away earlier, I heard about you and the Space Case - my congratulations on finally getting some action. Maybe now you'll stop lecturing me, eh?" He socked the Guardian in the shoulder, playfully, jostling him to the side and furthering his look of displeasure. "That's probably just my wishful thinking, though. I'm good at that, right?"

The silver tabby craned his head towards his obnoxious new watch partner, already irritated. Even his own inner turmoil had to be preferable to listen to than _this_. "If either one of us has the right to rib the other, shouldn't this conversation be taking place the _other _way around? Because rumor has it that you've been spending time with a certain _Princess _named Jemima, and technically, _I_ should be lecturing _you_."

"Aw, thanks for sparing me the guilt trip - I won't forget your kindness." He patted Munkus on the back. The Guardian twitched. 

As if the retort was a prompt, the Tugger went on. "She has a crush on me," he announced, with great satisfaction, and cockily adjusted his mane. "It's cute." It was a phenomena similar in Human high school hierarchies across the globe - popular guy is doted upon by legions of females, younger female develops obvious affections for popular guy, and popular guy consequently plays it up (because all of the older ones would've smacked him a good one long before). Textbook, really.

Munkustrap looked exasperated, but Munkustrap often looked exasperated when talking with the Tugger. "There are less harmful ways to improve one's sense of self worth, Tugger."

The Maine Coon snorted. "_My_ self-worth? C'mon, Munk."

The silver tabby sighed. Tugger had a point - he hated it when that happened. "Yes, what _was_ I thinking? The Rum Tum Tugger doesn't have doubts. I beg my pardon."

"You're pardoned. I can see where you got the impression - sometimes I wake up, and _I _don't even believe I'm me." He patted the Guardian on the back in mock-consolation, ignoring both the intended sarcasm and the subsequent eye-roll.

"And anyway," Tugger continued on, "how can it be harmful? Jemi likes me, so I make it a point to hang around her, and make her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. And I get to spend time with a fine-looking almost-Queen. It's a win-win situation." Clearly, he'd thought this over.

". . . Except for the part where she decides that the reason you're hanging around her is because _you_ like her, too, and all of that inevitable heart-shatter-y business that will follow when she discovers otherwise." It always perplexed Munkustrap as to how someone who spent as much time around females as the Tugger could misunderstand them so completely.

"Ah, Jemi's smart - she knows the reputation I have to uphold. And I _do_ like her, just, y'know, not on a permanent 'stay-with-you-forever, love-you-for-always'-type basis. You get me?" He looked over at Munkus to verify this understanding.

"Do you _ever_ like a Queen on a 'stay-with-you-forever, love-you-for-always'-type basis?" the silver tabby questioned dryly.

"Nope." The Curious Cat's answer came not even a beat later, with a fresh grin. "I'm a restless spirit - can't make promises I won't keep. You have to be realistic and allow some room for boredom." He clapped a paw on Munkustrap's shoulder. "You're a Tom in a position of power. Don't you ever get the urge to play the field?"

"I don't think 'realistic' is the word I would've chosen, and no, I don't. Demeter is quite enough for me."

The Tugger chuckled. "I'm sure she _is_." The silver tabby's eyes pierced him with a stern warning glare, but he went on anyway. "It's okay not to act all noble every now and then, you know. I like to give her a rough time about it, but I see how your authoritative air slips a little in front of our Scarlet Queen." He smirked, obviously thinking that he had Munkus pinned.

"Bombalurina has that effect on _everyone _- the only Tom I know who _wouldn't_ act unsure of her would be _you_." The silver tabby seemed dismissive, but the rebuttal was still too hasty for him to have been completely unbothered by the accusation. Immediately, Tugger knew he had him by the tail.

Irritably, Munkustrap continued. "Come to think of it, you sound just like her - perhaps you two should go off together, and leave the sane, monogamous majority of us alone. And weren't we discussing _your_ love life, not mine?"

"It's a conversation, not a discussion - besides, I started it, so I get to make the ground rules." He smiled again, and they both knew he had won, which was another aspect of talking with the Tugger that Munkustrap did not particularly enjoy. Not only was he annoyingly egotistical, he was manipulative, too.

"Anyway, Bomby and I had our try years ago, if you'll remember back that far, and we decided to go solo and start crushing hearts instead of each other. It's _you _she's crying over, not me. Actually, I'm a little jealous that you can make her go all soft like that, because I sure haven't ever been able to do it for her."

Munkustrap's first, unmasked reaction to this news was of instant guilt - the Tugger liked to exaggerate, but the silver tabby still couldn't forget the brief conversation that he and Bomba had had a couple of nights ago, in that very same spot. She was more hurt by the news than he has assumed she would be, and she'd run off so abruptly afterwards. The only thing he had ever considered her being upset about, when hypothesizing his and Deme's eventual getting-together, was that he taken off with her best friend - not that the best friend had taken off with _him_. Now, it seemed extremely unfeeling and shortsighted on his part to have not taken the Scarlet Queen's affections more seriously, even if she'd never given an indication that she was any more dedicated to him than the other Toms she put moves on. He thought he should've known, somehow; it was his _duty _to be aware of the effects his actions might have on the members of the tribe.

Instead, he had been careless and had overlookedwhat was right in front of him, concentrated on only Demeter's happiness. Although he didn't regret the fact that this had resulted in her becoming his Intended, he _did _regret the manner in which he had allowed it to happen. Since then, Bomba had not spoken to either of them, nor had he seen hide or tail of her. If the Scarlet Queen lost what made her so inimitable, he would feel responsible - and not only would this sadden the silver tabby greatly (secretly, he had admired and respected her vivacity), it would mean that he had also damaged the friendship between her and Demeter. And theirs was a bond older and stronger than the one that the black-gold Queen shared with him. If one of the two had to be left in disrepair, it should not be that one - it should be his.

The Tugger watched this internal struggle take place, and smirked. "You sneaky Pollicle," he said in disbelief, smacking the hard surface of the car hood beneath them with his fist. "Trying to lecture _me _when you're in over your head with _two_ Queens! And trust me, Jemi's not half the homewrecker those two are. You've got it in for yourself, Munk."

The Guardian scowled, agitated by Tugger's typical misconstruction of the situation. "Please, this is _me_ we're discussing - Narrator, Mr. Twisty Knickers, Grand Poobah of the Jellicle Tribe? You know it's not like that."

The Tugger seemed very impressed that Munkus knew and was able to list all of the colorful nicknames he had assigned to him over the years. "Really? 'Cause that's not what it sounds like."

"Yes, well, your selective hearing can be very well documented. A Queen might say she's looking for romance, and you'd interpret this as 'have your way with me'."

Another grin. "What, you're saying the two _aren't _interchangeable?"

Munkustrap sighed and rubbed at his temples. "You never give up, do you?"

"Aw, Munk, you know the answer to _that_." Tugger crossed his arms behind his head and leaned fluidly back into the windshield. "Of course I don't give up - I'm _curious_, is all. Can't help myself."

"Isn't _that _the truth." The silver tabby crinkled his brow, giving the Maine Coon a critical once-over. "And you don't realize it, but you have things more than cut out for you, once you decide you've had enough of your current young fling, so don't lecture _me_. Although I'm a bit appalled that you haven't realized this by now, Queens don't think the way that you do."

While he could think of several situations in which the rule most certainly did not apply, the Tugger took this opportune time to yawn. "Yeah, yeah. Jemi's not most Queens - aims high, though." A smirk. "And I did say she was cute. . . maybe I'll keep her around for a while. Who knows?"

"Let's hope she's not, for her sake." The Guardian regarded him seriously. "She is still a Princess at heart, no matter how far away the next moon is. Don't ruin her opinion of all Toms before she even makes it to Queenhood."

"I'm almost offended." The Curious Cat leered at him with one squinted eyed before making a proclamation. "You're getting soft in your old age, Munk. You _really_ think your pep talks are going to work any better on me now than they did before?"

Munkustrap looked mildly entertained, and lowered himself to the level of the Tugger on the windshield (not in maturity), supporting himself upright with his palms and quirking an eyebrow. "_Old age_? May I remind you that you're actually an entire _moon _older than me?"

Tugger shut both his eyes again. "You could, but it wouldn't do you any good. A cat's only as old as he acts, Munk - age means nothing." He said this matter-of-factly, as if he were actually dispensing some truth of life. The silver tabby would've laughed if it wasn't done with tongue-in-cheek.

"This applies to almost-Queens, too, I'm guessing?"

Tugger smiled lazily, close-lidded. "Yup. For a crumbly old codger, you catch on quickly."

"It's nice to know I'm still good at _something_."

They sat there in comfortable silence, slight wintry breeze ruffling the ends of their fur. Munkustrap looked over the Yard, where, once again, the nightlife consisted only of the kittens. His duties would almost become obsolete when they all came of age, and he certainly couldn't get accustomed to the visitations he'd been receiving at his post recently. Tugger was a nuisance, but a halfway-engaging nuisance. And Bomba. . . thinking of her made the guilt assail him anew. He couldn't get the look in her eyes that she had worn when he last saw her out of his head. It confused him more and more, each time he tried to sort it out. . . And it irked him that his sense of professionalism, and of "the right thing" didn't seem to apply in this situation. This time, _he _was the one who had done something wrong, and he didn't even know how to begin to apologize. What could he say without acknowledging everything in the most discomfiting light possible? Bringing everything out in the open might just exacerbate the problem further.

The Tugger peeked an eye at the troubled silver tabby again, and then heaved himself upright, sighing and placing another paw on his shoulder. "Okay, here's the deal, Munk. Even though I never listened to those pep talks you gave me, and this really isn't my territory, I'll just say this - it's not as bad as you think it is. Bomby's tough stuff. Honestly, I don't know what a Queen like her sees in a straight-edge like you, but trust me, she doesn't give up that easily. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. . . or whatever it is they say."

Munkustrap paused, and then looked back at Tugger, who seemed nearly serious - a sight worthy of a chuckle. "My, Tugger. That was almost. . . eloquent." His expression turned sly. "You know, you're really not as bad as they say you are."

The Maine Coon slipped back into his standard smirk. "Don't tell that to the ladies. They'll get ideas."

"Your secret's safe with me."

At that, the Tugger stood to go, straightening his ruff and shaking his fur in a thoroughly practiced mannerism. "Well, Munk, it's been fun, but I've got to be off. If you ever need company, though, just say the word - it's a busy schedule, but I think I could fit you in somewhere."

The Guardian gave the charade of being touched by the words. "I feel honored to be allowed even a moment of your time. So _giving _of you." And, as if the remark reminded him of something, his expression turned to that of interest. "Say, what important item do you have on your agenda next that causes you to want to run away so quickly? Jemima's untouchable tonight, you know. Perhaps you've just tired of my company?" He sighed ruefully. "Maybe I have aged more than I realize. . ."

Tugger's grin renewed itself, a semi-permanent fixture that took up his entire face and made him both hateful and impossible to hate simultaneously. "Aw, nothing like that, Munk. All high-strung Toms are good for a tease, but you know you'll always be my favorite."

"Once again, I'm touched. Really. Do you smile like that when you tell a Queen you've had enough of her, too? I'd imagine she might walk away all pleased, like you'd given her a compliment."

The grin deepened itself, slightly devilish. "That's classified information, _Guardian_." He dusted off his shoulders again, purposefully, and he and the silver tabby both grinned at each other, in mutual recognition of their differences, and their ability to harmlessly joke about them without raising claws to one another's throats. In spite of how often their philosophies on life put them at odds, they somehow were always able to maintain their friendship.

"To really answer your question, though. . . I've got myself a song to practice." He looked at Munkustrap, his gaze smug and meaningful.

Munkustrap looked honestly surprised. "_No_. . . there's no way in the Hotels."

The smugness remained. "You'd better watch that language. There are kittens around, you know."

"You're participating in the _duets_?"

Tugger put a paw on his hip and looked thoughtful. "Well, I haven't exactly found a partner yet. . . But I've got something in mind, yes." He looked at the silver tabby's stricken expression and laughed. "Don't tie yourself in knots, Munk. Trust me, the Tugger's not getting sentimental on you - this'll be the hardest-rocking duet you'll ever hear."

Munkustrap still didn't look convinced. "While the style wasn't really my main concern. . . From you, I wouldn't expect anything less. But a _duet_, Tugger? Even when you performed with Mistoffelees last year, you wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise."

"Like I said, I'm working on it. I don't have anything lined out yet. . . But since I figure everyone else is going to make me gag with their frilly little numbers, I have to bring at least _some _life to the party." He was all confidence - but then again, this was also the case in every scenario, whether or not the results actually ended up in his favor.

The Guardian was dubious. "And have you alerted your partner to this development, whoever they may be? Your ego doesn't count as a separate entity, I'm afraid, no matter how much larger than you it may be."

"You're funny."

A curt smile. "I do try."

The Curious Cat began to lope off. "Funny or not, you're burning moonlight, and great lyrics don't write themselves." He smirked back, patronizing. "She doesn't know yet - but she will, when the time comes. You'll see."

With a casual wave, he sauntered off into the night, leaving Munkustrap to himself, shaking his head. Just when he though no behavior of the Rum Tum Tugger's could phase him, and that he had seen it all, he managed to do things like _this_.

"Oh, _Cat_," he moaned to himself.

Not only did he owe Bombalurina an apology, he suspected he might owe her something in recompense for that bet, too.

The moon winked at him from behind a cloud, unpleasantly full and teasing, and he ran his paw miserably across his forehead. Sometimes, he really didn't like his job at _all._

_

* * *

_Though there were many things that the Scarlet Queen _was_, "easily discouraged" wasn't one of them. 

Her feelings had been trampled, yes - but it wasn't the first time. Perhaps more was on the line, but it was nothing that couldn't be dealt with. She'd been hurt and confused (a lady's bound to be, every now and then), but she'd had time to think, and now everything had come back into focus. Her best friend had moved in with the Tom whose affections she also sought, and he had returned them. These were her certainties.

And now, she was crouched behind the oven, waiting for pawsteps that she knew could only belong to the Guardian. This was her course of action.

She scented him before she ever heard him, which was no surprise - the silver tabby was the stealthiest cat she knew, aside from the Twins; his role demanded it of him (and of course, he never failed to live up to his expectations). But _she _was stealthy, too, and she was pleased to notice that her hiding place was well-chosen. His mind was already off duty, and he would never suspect her - just how she had planned it.

At the exact moment Munkustrap tiptoed around the corner of the oven, Bombalurina stood up and revealed herself, trying to look as casual as possible. The expression on his face was quite priceless.

The Scarlet Queen was all smiles - clearly, not what Munkus was expecting. This part, too, was according to plan. The Guardian, having the protective complex that she knew he did, had prepared himself for a meeting with a Bomba who was still licking her wounds, still resentful of him. Maybe she'd allowed this supposition of his to manifest itself for her own benefit, but whatever the case, she was still ahead of the game, and not down yet. That was most important.

Still grinning, she further shocked the silver tabby with an offhanded greeting. "Hey there, _Guardian_. . . fancy meeting you wandering about at such an hour." They both knew there was nothing ironic about it at all, however.

Munkustrap looked as if he very much wanted to say something, as the obvious signs of struggle now showed in his features. But, her manner had thrown him off, and now he seemed unsure of whether he even wanted to broach the topic - had the entire matter just been in his head?

Inwardly pleased, the grin broadened. She hadn't lost her touch just yet. "Anyhow, I wanted to stop and offer my proper congratulations to you and that minx of a best friend I have. You've fought it off for far too long, and so has she - you'll both be perfect together."

Now appearing decidedly unsettled, Munkustrap seemed to fumble for a response. "Ah. . . thank you. I was worried about your approval of the arrangement. . . I do apologize for unprofessional handling of the situation; you both deserved better." He paused, and swallowed visibly. "I promise on my honor to give her the care and attention she needs. I _want _to give it to her."

Bomba waved a paw at him dismissively, amused by his bumbling alibi - the guilt was slightly vindicating. "Oh, there was no doubt in my mind. If ever a girl needs looking after, there's no one more capable than _you_." She winked, and swore that the Guardian flushed at her compliment - what with the fur, however, she would never get true confirmation.

"Anyhow, do tell that friend of mine to visit. . . While I certainly understand that she must be enjoying her cozy new rooming, and I can't say that I blame her, it'd be nice if she could still find time for little ol' Bomby. Got it?"

Munkustrap nodded mutely, and tried to smile - it looked more like a grimace, however. "I won't get in the way of your friendship. When it all comes down to it. . . I think you know her better than I do." This was a lie, and once again, they both knew it.

"Knowing someone is only the half of it, Munk." She brushed past him, and smiled insinuatingly. "Remember it."

He _did _know - and the fact that she was so easily able to pinpoint his insecurities disconcerted him more than he let on. Or _thought _he let on.

Still grinning in that special way of hers that, for some reason, always had the ability to ruffle the silver tabby's fur like nothing else, she gave her goodbye. "Well, I'll let you get back to Deme. If I still know her at all, she'll be up waiting for you, and wondering what kept you so long."

She turned and walked away without a backwards glance. "Goodnight, Guardian."

Munkustrap followed her cue, and went his own way as well. . . But the truth was, he was more confused now than ever. He physically shook his head, as if to rid himself of the thoughts, but they seemed keen on staying.

_Demeter_, he thought.

And why was it that he hadn't wanted her to go? 

It was best not thought about. What _was _best thought about was the queen that he had committed himself to, that had waited all night and day to see again. . .

. . . Even if she wasn't the one who seemed to consume his thoughts.

* * *

Demeter jumped as scratching sounded on the door to the armoire - she'd been expecting company, of course, but it had still managed to shock her when it finally came to call. She was unused to living with someone in this way, and although she was definitely not adverse to it, she had yet to conquer some of the challenges it presented for her. Still, this was what she wanted, and she was making her best effort accordingly. 

The black-gold Queen opened the door for Munkustrap (it was much easier to do so from the inside), who gratefully climbed in and shut it behind him, smiling at her warmly. Demeter shyly smiled back, and allowed herself to relax into the rub that he bestowed against her cheek, even if she wasn't yet ready to return it. She was still timid about displaying and receiving physical affections - she didn't mind the ones that the Guardian awarded her (in truth, they contented her a great deal), but once again, she was out of practice. Her Intended's patience never seemed to wear thin with her, though, and Demeter gathered strength from it, day by day. If he believed in her, then she would, too.

"Hello." His voice was slightly husky, and she blushed behind her cheek-fur. This was another thing that intimidated the black-gold Queen - Munkustrap's attraction to her. Again, she didn't mind it, but his straightforwardness contrasted greatly with all that she had learned, from time and experience, to hide.

"Hi," she returned, in her detestable shrinking-violet voice. "How was watch duty?"

Normally, a simple answer would follow, but this time, the silver tabby wavered. Demeter tilted her head, and mustered the courage to sit closer to him (she had really wanted to, all along).

"Did something happen?"

And that was when she scented it - the familiar perfume of the Scarlet Queen that unavoidably clung to the Guardian's fur. "Bomba," she whispered, eyes going wide. She didn't know what she should feel first. Jealous? Fearful? Protective? Guilty? These past three nights, Deme's feelings toward her friend had vacillated. She had been too afraid to face her, for fear of her temper, but it seemed Bomba was avoiding her as well. But now, she was talking to Munkustrap again? She was more unsure than ever.

She looked up at Munkus, and hesitantly began again. He seemed. . . distracted. "Did she-"

That snapped him out of it. "No," he responded shortly, and with more apparent force than he intended, because Deme jumped back a trifle, pupils dilating again.

He cleared his throat, and tried again. "Forgive me. I thought ahead of you." He pulled the black-gold Queen closer to him, and she dazedly complied with the new position, head resting in the hollow of his shoulder. "I was going to say that nothing worrisome happened. She offered her congratulations to us, albeit in her unique way-" he tried to smile, "-and asked after you."

This was the truth. . . and it was also a lie; a lie that the silver tabby felt terrible telling. He knew that Demeter was willing to believe him, too - she _trusted _him. Would he disappoint her, too? But then again, what else _could _he say? Those were the Scarlet Queen's words, verbatim. It just wasn't how she meant them.

"Hm. Maybe I should've. . . should've give her more credit," Deme mused softly. She looked upwards, making eye contact. "Are you sure that's all she said?"

"As sure as I know I love you." He said this without a second thought, and kissed her, until she went limp in his arms, and he knew she would believe him.

On the list of things the Guardian didn't want to think about, he added another item:

How much _did _he love her, if his love was as sure as a lie?

* * *

I think this chapter needs a resounding "dun dun DUN" at the end. XD It got a bit. . . soap opera-y? Heh, it's all Bomby's fault.

This was a filler chapter, of sorts. Plot-wise, the only thing that went on was Munkustrap being _angsty _and _woefully indecisive_, and the Scarlet Queen getting her groove back. Otherwise, Tugger and Munk played word-tennis and the kittens rolled around all cutesy-like, being. . . kitten-y.

Interesting _stuff _is ahead, however! I have the next few installments all planned out.

. . . Also, if anyone has any inclination to join a literate CATS role play, feel free to PM me. I can hook you up.

That's all I've got. Until the ever-indefinite next time!


End file.
